


Fire Emblem: Three House: Prismatic Butterfly

by SonoDaten



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU Where Everybody Lives and Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe (AU), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azure Moon Spoilers, Black Eagles/Crimson Flower Spoilers, Byleth Remembers the Past Routes, Canon-Typical Violence, Fourth Route, Gen, Silver Snow spoilers, Verdant Wind Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonoDaten/pseuds/SonoDaten
Summary: She hears a voice in her head. She sees visions of lives that wear her face, but are not her own. Everywhere she looks she sees something new, but feels in her mind as though it were old.Until she meets Wren.As Byleth begins to uncover the mysteries of Garreg Mach and her past lives, a new enemy descends upon the Monastery with a terrifying power and a singular goal. Byleth, Edelgard, and Wren must fight against foes old and new, but Byleth soon realizes that unraveling the secrets of her past may be the key to securing the future of Fódlan for everyone.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. A Break in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting a fic in AO3, so I'm excited to see how this goes!
> 
> A couple of notes:
> 
> -I'll be updating the tags regularly, but any chapter-specific trigger warnings I'll put in notes before each chapter (violence, etc.)  
> -This fic was written using knowledge from all four playable routes (Azure Moon, Crimson Flower, Silver Snow, Verdant Wind). If you do not want spoilers for routes you have not played yet, turn back now, but it's mostly lore. Any plot-relevant spoilers will occur in flashbacks that Byleth occasionally experiences.

_It’s cold. It’s always cold. Or is it just the feeling of blood leaving limbs as the woman plunges the serpentine dagger into her chest again, screaming for retribution, and it’s not until the body lies motionless for a long time beneath her that she kicks it aside and grapples for the jagged, bloodied sword and hugs it close. As though it had not been forgotten in the mud moments before._

_She vanishes—or more appropriately, her visage changes. This time it’s a man screaming, scraggly blond hair constantly darting in and out of his one eye, the other long lost and covered. He thunders across an open plain with a glowing spear in his hand, ruthlessly cutting down all who would stand in his way. The picture distorts and now he stands in the rain, fur cape weighing down his shoulders. He asks for forgiveness, but from who?_

_Now he’s a man with dark green hair on the back of a wyvern, begging to lead, but lead what? He says that he cannot accept refusal, that there is no one else who can shoulder the burden. Then a woman with silver hair dressed in red kneeling, head bowed in defeat, but her voice does not break from that, it breaks for something deeper._

_“I wanted . . . . to walk with you—,”_

_And then she is. She marches through the flames as though they are nothing in glorious, golden armor against the white dragon whose scales shimmer against the smoke. The dragon speaks of betrayal, of sin, but the woman is defiant and reaches out her hand; she knows that even the gods falter._

_Next the man with brown hair and curious eyes reaches out. His tongue uses kind words, drips charisma and charm like a leaky faucet in need of repair, but when he calls out in friendship, know that he’s meant nothing more in his life._

“Yes, yes, those are all fine stories,” A high-pitched voice drawls. “But if they were _oh-so great_ , then why are you here?”

The woman jerks back, aware of her surroundings, the pull of the floor around her feel like the shifting tides of the ocean shallows slowly turning her around to see the young girl on the tall throne behind her. The girl is a stranger, and yet, the woman feels a sharp pang of familiarity in her stomach as her feet move her forward. As if sensing her turmoil, the girl giggles and steps down with a smile, clapping her hands together.

“Ah, so you feel it too, then? That . . . connection between us? Most perplexing, is it not? Almost as perplexing as your appearance here in her first place.” The girl leans forward, eyes sweeping over her in appraisal. “It has been some time since I last had a visitor. Tell me, then: what are you?”

She balks at the question, blue eyes narrowing just a degree as she looks over the girl in kind. She appears like any other child, but her pointed ears and strange regalia points to some more mysterious origin--if the fact that she had not just _appeared_ in her head was enough of a tip to that point. Finally, she licks her lips and says, “I’m a mortal.”

“Ooh, a mortal! It’s been so long since I last met a mortal! Then you must have a name. Go on! Out with it!”

The woman frowns, brows knitting together. “You’re the one who said we had a connection. _You_ tell _me_ what my name is.”

“Tch, well, the nerve! Have they stopped teaching basic manners to mortals since I’ve last spoken to one? You’d do well to keep yourself in check!” The girl pouts and wags her finger in the woman’s direction. “Now, listen here--!”

“You haven’t even introduced yourself to me yet, kid—,”

“ _Kid!?_ ”

“—and now you’re demanding my name.”

“Are you this rude to everyone you meet the first time? You must not have many friends, if so!”

“I’m a mercenary. I don’t have _any_ friends. It’s just me and my dad.”

The girl rolls her eyes and sits back on her throne, cheek in her hand. “Very well, then, if it matters so much to you. You may call me Sothis, but I am also known as The Beginning. Happy?”

“I’m Byleth.”

“Byleth. By-leth,” Sothis moves her mouth around each syllable, rolling the unfamiliar sound across her tongue with a small smile. “Yes, yes, that’s familiar. It feels . . . right! Don’t you feel it, too?”

“No.”

“Right, of course. Well, as a mortal, you likely have a date of birth, yes? When is it?”

“Do you really need—?”

“Yes.”

“Gods. Fine. It’s the 23rd Day of the Wyvern Moon.”

“Well, it seems I’m right again! We share the same day of birth!” Sothis claps, her smile devolving into a large yawn as she reclines into the throne. “Do you really not feel it? It all feels so familiar . . . like this has all happened . . . mhm, before . . . but for now, I think it’s time for another nap.”

“Nap? Right now?” Byleth goes up the first step towards the throne, hand outstretched towards her. “Wait, what about—?”

* * *

“Hey, hey!” A gruff voice cuts through the darkness of her eyelids as a large hand shakes her shoulder. “It’s time to wake up, now.”

Byleth sits up and rubs her eyes, swinging her legs out of bed and standing up. The man beside her—her father, Jeralt Eisner—looks down and furrows his brows in concern.

“Are you alright? You were thrashing around and mumbling in your sleep.”

She straightens her shoulders, eyes still trying to focus in the dark. “I was dreaming . . . about a war.”  
She doesn’t notice Jeralt’s entire form tighten at the mention, or how his voice wavers. “A war? Again? The same one with the armies on the field?”

“There was a woman in white this time. She killed a man wielding a red sword. Or maybe it was white. Or both?” Byleth rubs her forehead.

He stays quiet for a long time, one hand idly stroking his beard. Or at least, trying to appear idle while he kept himself calm. “Well, there hasn’t been a war like that for a really long time. At least, in these parts.” He waves it off and shakes his head. “Best to put it out of your mind. It’s time to focus. We’re about to head out for our next job in the Kingdom. You remember? We need to leave soon.”

Byleth pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I remember—,”

The door flies open, and what happens next is a whirlwind:

Bandits flood the campsite as three students—two young men and a young woman—come running and calling for their aid. By Byleth and Jeralt’s standards, there aren’t that many bandits and they aren’t exactly fearsome, but given the flashiness of the student’s uniforms and their refined way of speaking, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Jeralt directs Byleth and the students forward to rout the bandits into desperation, though for one reason or another, they seem reluctant to retreat. One of the students, a boy named Claude, knocks the leader flat onto his back with a well-placed arrow. With a scream of rage, the bandit leader leaps right back onto his feet, axe in hand, and charges towards the nearest student—a girl named Edelgard—whose axe is still lodged in the back of another bandit. She draws the dagger on her belt, but against an axe? She’s suddenly pushed back as Byleth jumps between Edelgard and the axe crashing down on her. 

Her breath bursts from her lungs as the edge digs into her spine, searing hot pain that begins at the back of her eyes and then whites out her vision entirely. She thinks she hears Jeralt call out from behind her, but she can’t be sure when it feels like she’s sinking, being pulled from her body and beneath the ground, away from it all and into the same, blissful silence she’s always known. Alone.

And then, it all stops.

She feels that pull around her legs again, the faint whispers and low chanting, and opens her eyes to see Sothis glaring down at her from the Throne looking somewhere between supremely unimpressed and unimaginably angry.

“Are you dumb?”

“No.”

“That question didn’t require an answer! I know! Only an idiot would throw themselves in front of an axe for a girl they just met!” Sothis sighs. “Don’t you realize that if you die, _I_ die? Do you think I want to die? Did you even think of me before you acted? I thought you said you were a trained mercenary?”

“I did not say that exactly.”

“Well it is most clear now!”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“I stopped time. Had I not intervened, you surely would have died! You may thank me now.” Sothis preens, smug smile on her lips.

“Thank you for saving me, but—,”

“Ah, so you do have manners! Wonders never cease. You are most welcome. After all, if you perish, so do I.” 

“Okay, but what happens next?”

Sothis’ eyes shoot open. “Well . . . when I restart, the hands of time, the axe will likely cleave you in two. A terrible way to go, really. If only there were some way to stop this . . .”

“Turn it back.”

“Hm?”

“You stopped time to save me. Why don’t you just turn it back?”

“Turn back . . . the hands of time?” Sothis waves her hands and a circle of light appears in front of her, a connection of lines and scrawled writing inside and around the edge rotating in the air as she looks it over, then smiles. “Yes, yes, I think you may be right! I can turn back the hands of time! You will know what’s to come, so you will be able to prevent your untimely demise and save that girl.” Sothis looks over the circle with a raised eyebrow. “Right?”

“Yes!”

“Most excellent! Then you know what to do! This time, do not let me down!”

She waves her hand over the circle and a low hum sounds through the stale air, resonating in Byleth’s very bones as that now familiar sensation pulls against her limbs once again. Darkness falls around her again as she closes her eyes and feels herself become weightless as she floats between the reality she knows and a place she doesn’t, but feel she does, then feels her feet gently touch the ground before her senses are assaulted all at once by the realities of the battle once again. Smoke and sweat sting her nose, and Jeralt shouts something somewhere in the distance, drown out by Kostas’ scream as he leaps to his feet once again—,

_Wait._

_This is the moment._

Byleth’s eyes move instantly, finding Edelgard and sprinting towards her, sword out of its sheath by the time she reaches her, and just in time to intercept Kostas’ axe with practiced ease. He flops back to the ground with a frustrated groan, mumbling something about never being warned about mercenaries before he scrambles off into the forest with his bandits close behind him. Edelgard watches in awe, and Byleth turns to check on her just as Dimitri, Claude, and Jeralt rejoin them. Shortly after, the Knights of Seiros arrive, and their leader, Alois, recognizes Jeralt as their former captain and his mentor.

The introductions are short, but the entire time, Byleth feels the same as she had with Sothis: an aching familiarity with each of the students. She could practically finish their sentences as they pleaded for her to pledge loyalty to their various causes, and it unnerved her to the point of shaking. Claude cocks his head to the side.

“You alright?”

“It’s cold with the fires out.”

“It is chillier out here than I imagined. Even for this time of year.” Dimitri nods. “I will be thankful when we return to the Monastery.”

Claude’s eyes shine and he smiles at Byleth. “You are coming with us to the Monastery, right? Please say yes. Everybody should see it at least once.”

Her stomach turns at the mention of the place. Again, the feeling repeating, that all this has happened before. She frowns when she sees her father as he approaches them with Alois and announces they’ll be going to the Monastery instead of the Kingdom, and she can tell from his expression he isn’t much happier about the idea.

They say their goodbyes to their mercenary troop—Jeralt mostly; Byleth wasn’t especially close to any of them, and with a moniker like the Ashen Demon hanging over her, she wasn’t exactly surprised—and then set out with the Knights and students towards Garreg Mach Monastery. The trip is shorter than their ride to the Kingdom would have been, and Byleth spends most of it observing the Knights and the three students.

Their arrival is a whirlwind of whispers amongst the faculty and students, and shortly after they are summoned before the Archbishop, which Jeralt heaves a resigned sigh upon hearing. He turns to Byleth with a grim expression, checking over both shoulders before speaking in a hushed tone.

“Be careful of what you say to Lady Rhea, okay? Don’t tell her any more than you need to.”

“Who is she?”

“You heard the man, she’s the Archbishop. She’s the leader of the Church of Seiros. She’s—,” He makes to say more, but shakes his head. “Just be careful around her, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Okay.” He reaches out and awkwardly pats her on the shoulder before steering them both through the door into the Audience Room. Inside, a woman with light green hair and dressed in regalia stands on a raised dais, framed by light spilling through a stained glass window, hands clasped in front of her with a gentle smile. Byleth freezes in the spot. Jeralt halts beside her, his jaw—his entire body, really—tightening. “What’s the matter?”

Byleth’s breath comes out unevenly. Just being in the school makes her dizzy with the strong sense of deja vu, and seeing that woman hits her like a fist to the back of the head. Her father puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and she focuses on his touch, grounding herself in the here and now as they continue forward to the Archbishop, her warm gaze burning Byleth’s eyes as they stop before her. A cough brings her attention to the man with dark green hair standing beside her, stern green eyes scrutinizing Byleth.

“I don’t believe we had the pleasure while you were here, Captain Jeralt. My name is Seteth, and I advise the archbishop.”

“Hello.”

“Captain Jeralt, it is good to see you again.” Archbishop Rhea speaks in a low, melodic tone, her voice lilting around each word as if to pull you in. “It’s been so long. I wonder: was it fate that brought you here, or something else?”

“Forgive me for not returning sooner,” Jeralt replies gruffly, arms stiff by his side. He leaves it at that, trying to keep the conversation short, but the Archbishop’s eyes wander to Byleth just behind him. The corner of Jeralt’s lips twist. “As you can see, much has come into my life during my absence. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Byleth, born a few years after I left the Monastery.”

Rhea inclines her head with a smile. “Of course. Alois told me much about you and your battle with the bandits. It is nice to finally meet you, and I wholeheartedly thank you for your efforts in saving our students.”

“Thank you.” Byleth bows quickly, Jeralt watching out of the corner of his eye.

Jeralt moves his gaze to Rhea and then Seteth and sighs.

“I know what this is about, so before you ask, let me tell you I need to sleep on it.”

Rhea nods, eyes closed. “Your hesitation, while expected, still hurts. But very well. We shall speak tomorrow.”

“It is decided then,” Seteth says with a firm nod. “If that is all, the Archbishop has other duties to attend to.”

An attendant herds them out of the room and they return to their respective quarters until they are summoned the next day, when Jeralt heads into the Audience Chamber alone while Byleth waits outside until allowed in. He stands with hands on his hips, shaking his head with a scowl as she approaches.

“Looks like we’re gonna be here a while,” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve agreed to rejoin the Knights of Seiros, and they’ve requested your services as well.”

Byleth blinks at him. “As a . . . mercenary?”

“No, nothing like that. After their last combat instructor bolted during that bandit attack, they have an opening, and that damned Alois recommended you. Lady Rhea took him up on it.” Jeralt shakes his head, murmuring to himself. “What is she up to . . . ?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, and a man and woman greet them. The man is the picture of an academic, with greying hair and a monocle and his long, grey coat, while the woman wears a teal dress and white coat that seems better suited for a star than a schoolteacher, but the air of confidence she projects makes her seem perfectly in place. Their attention immediately floats to Jeralt.

“You must be the new professor! You’re much more sturdy and handsome than the last guy.” The woman looks him over carefully.

Jeralt steps back. “Uh, no. Sorry. I’m not the one you’re looking for.” He places a hand on Byleth’s back and pushes her forward. “You’re up.” He turns to leave and leans close to her ear. “Keep an eye out for trouble. I don’t know what Lady Rhea is up to by making you a professor all of a sudden, but it seems suspicious. Remember what I told you.”

Byleth nods and he leaves. She turns back to the man and woman and bows.

“I’m Byleth. I’m the new professor.”

“Really? You’re so . . . young!”

“Well, I’m sure Lady Rhea wouldn’t appoint someone incompetent . . . again.” The man clears his throat and adjusts his monocle. “My name is Professor Hanneman, and I am a Crest Scholar here at the Officer’s Academy. Would you happen to know if you bear a Crest? Visit me in my office later and we can have a more in-depth discussion about the subject.”

“And I’m Professor Manuela Cassagranda. I’m the physician here at the Officer’s Academy, a songstress, and available. It’s nice to meet you, Professor. You know, before I was here, I belonged to the renowned Mittlefrank Opera Company. Perhaps you’ve—,”

“Now, Manuela, we really shouldn’t be overwhelming her with chatter. There’s a lot to be done today.” Hanneman turns to Byleth. “I assume you know about the Academy’s House structure?”

Byleth blinks at them then slowly shakes her head. Manuela explains the academy’s House system and its relation to the current regions of Fódlan, including how this year’s particular batch of students was extra special. Every now and then they stop to snap at each other in a bout of good natured bickering, bringing back the nagging familiarity at the back of her mind. She comes back to the sound of Hanneman’s voice.

“How fortuitous that the future emperor, king, and sovereign duke are all enrolled at the same time. It truly marks an exceptional year for the Officer’s Academy,” He muses.

“Let’s just hope none of them are exceptional troublemakers.” Manuela gasps. “Wait, isn’t there supposed to be a transfer student arriving today?”

“Hm? Ah, I think I do remember reading a note from Seteth about that. Her carriage was scheduled to arrive hours ago. Do you think something’s happened?”

“How should I know? I’m not a psychic!”

Just as they’re about to get into another spat, the doors to the audience room fly open and a young woman walks inside dressed in a student’s uniform. Dark brown hair neatly combed and parted to the left falls in messy feathers over her forehead and onto the black eyepatch that covers most of the left-half of her face, but can’t quite cover the two light scars that stretch down and curl up over her nose. Her right eye, bright teal like a faraway ocean Byleth remembers seeing once, and set above high cheekbones, scans the room carefully. Her lips, marked by a light scar on the left side as well, relax into an easy smile when she sets her sights on the professors. She marches over them with her head held high, idly adjusting the black gloves on her hands until only a thin strip of brown skin is visible.

“You must be the professors I was instructed to meet. I apologize for the delay; my carriage got a little stuck in a muddy trench. The weather in Fódlan is much different from that of my home country. I hope you will understand.” She crosses one arm in front of her chest and the other behind her back and bows deeply. “My name is Wren Yabut, and I look forward to learning from you this year.”

“My, how polite!”

Byleth hangs back while Hanneman and Manuela move to greet Wren. She watches Wren smile and shake their hands, and realizes she feels nothing. No sense of familiarity. No déjà vu. Nothing, not even when she moves forward and takes Wren’s hand, looking her directly in the eye.

“It’s nice to meet you Professor Byleth. I look forward to learning more from you.”

Byleth considers her for a moment and says, “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I have the entire fic already plotted out, so the big thing is mainly the writing right now. I'm technically an essential worker during the pandemic, so I'll be writing between that, but the plan is right now to try and update the fic once every 1-2 weeks!
> 
> ...Except for this week because it's the anniversary of the release the Three Houses today (technically, where I am, it still is) and my Beta readers were SUPER awesome and got me both Chapters 1 and 2 back within a couple days of each other, so I'll be uploading that tomorrow! But after that, lol, who knows what the updating schedule will look like.


	2. Orientation

“I apologize for crashing your meeting, Professors. Especially you, Professor Byleth. I understand how hard it can be to be new.” Wren smiles, hands clasped behind her back as she turns back to Manuela and Hanneman. “Perhaps I should wait outside . . . ?”

“Actually, we thought it would be for the best if the new Professor familiarized herself with the grounds and other students during the day tomorrow before picking a House to lead. It would be beneficial of you to do the same before enrolling in a House.” Hanneman nods. “Your timing was impeccable.”

“Yes, this is perfect. We can kill two birds with one stone!”

“Well, I’m happy to not be a bother, then.” Wren turns to Byleth. “Assuming that's alright with you, Professor?”

"Of course."

“And if you have a moment, Professor, please stop by my office so we can discuss your Crest some more.”

“And only the House Leaders know you’re going to be the new Professor. Well, House Leaders and Wren. You’ll get a more honest reaction from the other students this way. While some of them are a little . . . off, they’re all good kids.” Manuela waves as they head off. “Good luck!”

Outside the Audience Chamber, Wren and Byleth walk side-by-side in silence. Wren coughs awkwardly and looks to Byleth.

“I apologize again for my untimely entrance. If you would prefer to meet the students by yourself, I—,”

“It’s fine.”

Byleth leaves it at that. It’s all that needs to be said, right? She thinks so, at least, until she notices Wren fidget with her gloves.

“If you say so, Professor.” They arrive at the bottom floor and Wren turns towards the training grounds. “See you tomorrow. I look forward to our tour.” She heads down the corridor and disappears around a corner.

Byleth returns to her own quarters for the night and returns to the Audience Chamber early the next morning. Wren stands outside waiting for her with a bright smile. They head in together where Rhea waits for them.

“So good to see you again Byleth.” She smiles fondly at her, then turns to Wren. “And you must be our new transfer student. Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery.”

“My name is Wren Yabut. Thank you, Lady Rhea, for allowing me to transfer here so late after the deadline. It is truly a gift I will never be able to repay.” Wren bows to her. “Your Monastery grounds are beautiful, and what I’ve seen of the Officer’s Academy so far proves that it deserves all the praise it gets.”

“You are too kind, Wren. We are honored to have you amongst our students this year.” Rhea switches her attention back to Byleth. “Speaking of, Professors Manuela and Hanneman mentioned you haven’t had time to tour the grounds yet?”

Byleth and Wren shake their heads.

“Then please, take today. See what the Monastery has to offer and meet those who have gathered to build a brighter future for all of Fódlan. By the end of the day, you’ll be expected to pick a House to lead, Professor; and you’ll be expected to enroll in one, Wren.”

“Of course. Thank you, Lady Rhea.” Wren nods her head and turns to Byleth. “Ready when you are, Professor.”

Byleth nods in return and they head down to the main grounds and enter the reception hall, where a number of students mill about in clumps of three or four around tables or in the aisle. Wren marvels at the high ceilings and wrought iron chandelier as Byleth leads her through the hall and then stops.

“Good morning, Professor. Have you figured out what House you’ll be leading yet? I wonder if you’ll be leading the Black Eagles? A small consolation. I hoped you would be willing to lend your strength and prowess to the Empire.” A voice brings her attention back down to the girl Byleth had stopped to talk to. Though short in stature, she stands proud, confident. “Who’s your friend? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. My name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, Imperial Princess and heir apparent to the Adrestian Empire.”

Silence. Byleth turns and finds Wren staring, eyes wide and hands wrought together so tightly that the material threatened to tear. She nudges Wren in the arm and she seems to snap out of it, blinking twice before smiling nervously.

“Of course. My name is Wren Yabut, Your Highness. I’ve just transferred to the Academy and Professor Byleth is showing me around.”

“I had heard rumors about a new transfer student, but this Professor is—,” Edelgard shakes her head and rubs her brow. “Nevermind. Since you’re new, perhaps you’d like to know more about some of the Black Eagles? I can only tell you a little bit about each of them, myself, but they’re also gathered in the classroom if you’d prefer to meet them in-person.”

“I think I will. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Edelgard.” Byleth marches past her with Wren in tow. “Are you nervous?”

“You get one chance to make a first impression, Professor. And it has to count.” Wren runs a hand through her hair. “And I think mine with the Imperial Princess just counted badly.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

Wren frowns. “You didn’t get out much before this, did you, Professor?”

“No, I was a mercenary.”

“Oh!” Wren stops for a moment, watching Byleth carry on towards the courtyard. “She says it so casually.” She jogs to catch up to Byleth. “I apologize. I didn’t know that. You must’ve been an incredible mercenary if they asked you to become a professor here.”

“Thanks.”

They turn the corner into the courtyard and Dimitri waves them over.

“Professor, thank you again for your help against those bandits, and congratulations on your professorship here at the Academy.”

“Bandits, huh? You grow more impressive by the second, Professor.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you. Are you a new student, perhaps?” Dimitri bows. “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and leader of the Blue Lion house. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Wren Yabut. Pleased to meet you, Your Highness. I’m the new transfer student. The professor is showing me around.”

“A pleasure. If you’re touring the Academy, be sure to stop by the Blue Lions classroom to meet others in the House.”

They say their goodbyes and Byleth steers them to the Academy’s main building: three large classrooms with banners of the respective Houses hanging by the doors. Loud chatter pours from each doorway as students busy themselves with early work and socializing with peers. Byleth chooses a door for them, until a whistle grabs their attention.

“Well, well, well, what have we here? A tour about the grounds with the Academy’s newest professor and transfer student? Congrats on the teaching gig by the way. Maybe the Golden Deer House will be lucky enough to have you as our professor.” A boy with dark brown hair and deep green eyes leans against a nearby pillar, arms folded over his chest. “But first impressions are important now that you could be my teacher, so _proper_ introductions are in order. I’m Claude von Riegan, grandson of Duke Riegan and from the ruling house of the Leicester Alliance, but let’s not get into all that. I’d rather hear about you.” He points to Wren.

“Me? Oh, well, my name is Wren Yabut. I’m touring with the Professor to help me choose which House I’m to enroll in.”

“That’s it?”

Wren shrugs. “For now.”

“Keeping your secrets close. I like you, Yabut.” Claude turns back to Byleth. “Good luck with your decision, Professor.”

“Thank you.”

Byleth leads Wren into the Golden Deer classroom first. A giant tapestry of the Leicester Alliance banner hangs on the walls in the back, and bookshelves line the other two walls. A blackboard stands at the front of rows of desks.

“I’m going back to talk to Professor Hanneman.” Byleth turns to Wren. “You can talk to the students on your own.”

“What!?” Wren raises an eyebrow, looking down the row of classrooms. “Shouldn’t you get to know the students before choosing a House to lead?”

“I already know. Good luck. I’ll wait for you outside the Audience Chamber.”

“Oh!” Wren watches Byleth walk in the direction of the Reception Hall. “Alright. Bye.”

She turns back to the open door and takes a deep breath, about to step forward when she feels an arm wrap around her. Claude appears at her side.

“Teach left you to fend for yourself, huh? I—,”

“Don’t touch me.”

Claude feels her entire body go rigid, hands curled into tight fists at her side, and obliges, arm flying back to his side. Wren lets out a long, slow breath and then turns to look down at him with a small smile. A look of surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by a good-natured grin as he gestures inside.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you. I’m sure it must be hard to meet people, what with you not being from Fódlan and all.”

“Already did some digging, I see.” Wren inclines her head, looking up at the sky. “It’s true. The place I come from is nothing like Fódlan.” She loses herself in the blue for a moment, so bright, so pure, the clouds stark white against it. “But it is quite beautiful here.”

“Almost too beautiful to miss home, isn’t it?”

Wren laughs. “Nonsense. I’m sure I’ll find something ugly to complain about and make me homesick within the week. Now, I’m excited to meet your classmates.”

She and Claude step through the doorway and he claps to get everyone’s attention. “Hey, everybody, gather round for a sec.” As most of the students stop and put away whatever they’re doing, Claude motions to Wren. “I’m sure some of you have already heard through the grapevine, we were getting a new transfer student. This is Wren Yabut. She’s touring the school and meeting some students before enrolling in a House, so let’s show her some of that good, old Golden Deer hospitality, okay?”

A girl with pink hair looks Wren up and down slowly. “Isn’t that, like, cheating?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, with how often the Houses are pitted against each other, isn’t letting you get to know the students in each House before enrolling in one a little like cheating?”

“Hilda, you weasel out of every fight you can, what does it matter to you?” Claude waves his hand at her, his tone clearly light and joking. “She’s just meeting us! It’s not like she’s gathering tactical information and asking for battle formations, she just wants to know your name and a little bit about you!”

“I’m just saying it’s suspicious is all!”

“Oh, so you admit I’m suspicious?” Wren raises an eyebrow at Claude. “Perhaps this isn’t the House for me, then.”

“Oh, great, two of them.” Hilda groans. “Fine, fine. My name is Hilda Valentine Goneril—,”

“And she doesn’t speak for all of us.” A girl with orange hair sighs as she holds out her hand. “My name’s Leonie. It’s nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure.” Wren shakes with both hands. “Why have you come to the Officer’s Academy?”

“I want to become a great mercenary, like my mentor. I came here to hone and develop my skills to make it happen.”

“A worthy goal, if I’ve ever heard one.” Wren turns next to a short boy with round glasses and a tall, burly boy standing beside him. “Nice to meet you both.”

“I’m Ignatz Victor. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“And I’m Raphael.” He looks up at Wren. “Say, you’re pretty tall, but you’re kinda . . . lanky.”

“Raphael!”

“What? She is!”

“It’s alright, really. I’m not quite as gifted in the more physical styles of fighting, I know that.”

“Are you, perhaps, a magic-user, then?” A shorter girl with shock-white hair speaks up, fuschia eyes appraising Wren carefully.  
“Something like that, yes.”

“Then perhaps you could learn something from me, and I might even learn something from you. My name is Lysithea von Ordelia. Remember it.”

“Of course. It’s an honor to meet you.” Wren turns to the quiet girl with blue hair and hunched shoulders next to Lysithea and bows. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Um, nice to meet you.” The girl sighs, each word spoken like it was a labor. “I’m Marianne. Marianne von Edmund. I’m afraid I’m not as interesting as everyone else, so you should probably--,”

“No need to worry about that, Marianne, when you have someone like me to follow you up! Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Heir to House Gloucester. Honored, I’m sure.” Lorenz holds out his hand for Wren.

Wren narrows her eyes at him and just bows slightly. “Charmed, but I’m afraid I have to go. I should really get to the other classrooms before the end of the day. Wouldn’t want to keep the Archbishop waiting.”

“Oh, but I’m sure just a moment—,”

“It was nice meeting you all! Thank you for taking the time to introduce yourselves.”

Wren turns and exits the class without another word to Lorenz, though his classmates have plenty of jabs for him when she leaves him slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Claude waves her off as she moves on to the classroom next door with banners of blue and the crest of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus blowing in the soft winds of the early afternoon. Wren looks up at the sky again, seeing the bright blues of earlier had begun to surrender to stunning oranges and purples. Had so much time really passed already? She shakes her head and enters the Blue Lion classroom, where a scream brings her attention to the front of the room.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

She looks up just as a book sails through the air towards her face, and she catches it with ease. An embarrassed cough comes from another student as they watch her lower the book and look around the room.

“Uh, hello. I’m the new transfer student and I--,”

The students converge on her, their expressions ranging from amazement to cautious. A blonde girl clears her throat, her face flushed, and holds her hand out.

“I’m, uh, sorry about throwing that book at you. For what it’s worth, I meant to hit Sylvain, but he ducked out of the way.”

“Hey! Don’t bad mouth me to the new kid!” Sylvain crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s not often we get the chance to meet people who don’t know anything about us! You know, an _actual_ clean slate.”

A boy with dark blue hair and harsh eyes scoffs. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to dirty it before she leaves the room.”

“ _Hey_!”

Wren laughs, hoping to break up the conversation, and hands the book back to the girl. “I caught it, so no harm, no foul. My name is Wren Yabut. I’m meeting some students before enrolling in a House.”

“It’s nice to meet you Wren. My name is Ingrid Bandl Galatea, of House Galatea.” Ingrid places the book on a nearby desk. “Which region are you from? Do you belong to a noble house, or are you a commoner?”

“Region? Noble house? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand how things work here in Fódlan.”

“Are you . . . not from Fódlan?”

“Um, perhaps we could get our introductions out of the way before getting into all that?” Wren turns to Sylvain. “So, you’re Sylvain?”

“Sylvain Jose Gautier, future Margrave Gautier. May I just say, your eyepatch is extremely well-detailed. Is it custom?”

“It is. Good eye.”

Sylvain flounders for a moment. “Was . . . that a joke? That was a joke, right?”

“I find it’s good to have a sense of humor about my situation. You can laugh.”

“Okay, because that was a good one.”

Wren moves on to the boy next to him. “And you are?”

“Felix Hugo Frauldarius. I find introductions are best done on the sparring grounds. Your weapon of choice.”

“My hands, unfortunately.”

Felix smiles, excited. “No shame in being a brawler. In fact, I find that—,”

“No, magic.”

“Oh. That works, too, I guess.”

“You use magic?” A girl with orange hair jumps between them. “I have to see what you can do. Did you have formal teaching, or are you self-taught?”

Behind her, a blonde young woman laughs. “Annie, you’ll probably have better luck asking her one question at a time.”

“Oh, right! My name’s Annette Fantine Dominic. I studied at the Fhirdiad School of Sorcerery, so magic is my thing.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Annette. I’d love to trade notes some time.”

“And I’m Mercedes. It’s nice to meet you, Wren. Please let me know if you need anything, even if you don’t end up enrolling in our House!”

“Thank you, Mercedes, that’s very kind of you to offer.”

“I’m Ashe, pleased to meet you as well.” A boy with silvery hair and mint eyes shakes Wren’s hand. “Good luck choosing a House. I can’t imagine how tough that must be.”

“It’s not so bad.” Wren turns to the next student. “And you are . . . ?” She looks up and smiles. “The only person taller than me! So far!”

The boy with white hair and dark brown skin nods. “So it would seem. My name is Dedue. I serve His Highness, Dimitri.”

“Nice to meet you, Dedue. Us tall people need to stick together.” She holds out her hand for him to take, but he doesn’t.

“It was nice to meet you.”

Wren bows. “Likewise.”

“So, Wren, you don’t have nobility where you’re from?” Ingrid asks.

“Not quite. We have a King, my father, who governs the lands, but it’s a small kingdom. There’s not much to govern.”

Mercedes gasps. “You’re a princess!”

“Is that the term you use here? Then I suppose. I am the youngest of three children, however. There’s no chance of ascension to the throne for me. The most I can hope for is a spot in my older sister’s council of advisors.”

“So your father sent you here to learn how to be a good advisor?” Ashe rubs his chin thoughtfully. “It’s not a bad idea, Your Highness. The Officer’s Academy is a place for students to learn all aspects of ruling, but why send you all the way here?”

“Father sent me here to prove myself. He wants to establish a relationship with Fódlan in the future, so he hopes that by sending me here now, I’ll be able to connect with the right people to make it happen. He pulled so many strings to make it happen.” Wren nods, suddenly serious. “It wouldn’t be an understatement to say everything hangs on my performance here.”

"May I ask where you're from? Perhaps we've heard of it."

"It's very far away." Wren closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as she places a hand on her chest, lost in thought for a moment. "I come from the kingdom of Sarepida."

"Sarepida," Ashe repeats. "Never heard of it, I'm afraid. Let me see if I can find a map and maybe you could show us—,"

Wren turns at the sound of bells ringing from the cathedral tower, dark shadows beginning to fall over the courtyard. She turns to the Blue Lions and bows.

“Thank you for taking the time to introduce yourselves to me, but I must be going. I have to meet the other class before the end of the day and report to the Archbishop.”

Mercedes walks her to the door. “Of course. Goodbye! Good luck with your decision!”

Outside, Wren hurries to the next classroom. The students inside begin to gather their things to leave for the day, but pick up their heads when they see her standing in the doorway, and put everything down to meet her.

“Hey, you must be that transfer student, right?” A boy with bright, blue hair meets her at the door. “I’m Caspar von Bergliez, pleased to meetcha!”

“Uh, yes, that’s me. My name is Wren Yabut, and I was just meeting some students from each of the Houses before enrolling in one. I’m sorry it’s so late, but if I could just have a moment of your time—,”

“Awesome. Maybe you’ll be our classmate, then!” Caspar ignores her apology and pulls her inside. He turns to the person collapsed into a chair beside him. “Right, Linhardt?”

“Mhm.” They lift their head, strands of dark green hair getting in their eyes as they blink up at Wren. “Linhardt von Hevring. Nice to meet you. I’d usually be napping right now, so, if you’ll excuse me.”

“They’re not usually like this.”

“Well, I know meeting a new face always excites me!” A girl with long, curly brown hair and a hat perched atop her head struts forward, hands extended. “My name is Dorothea. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed.”

“So, whose daughter are you?”

A boy with orange hair balks. “ _Dorothea_!”

“Well, she transferred here so late, I just assumed—,”

Wren throws her head backs and laughs, deep and full. “No, no, she’s right. You’re sharp. I’m the third princess of my home country, the kingdom of Sarepida, here to establish favorable relationships with up and coming leaders in Fódlan.”

“Oh, so you are not from Fódlan?” A girl with fuschia hair and light brown eyes asks.

“No, and you are . . . ?”

“My name is Petra, and I am of Brigid.” Petra shakes Wren’s hand. “Your mastery of the language . . . I am having much envy.”

“I was fortunate enough to have a lot of tutors and language teachers at my disposal before coming here. If you ever need help, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”

“That is very kind of you to offer.”

“Your manners are very befitting a noble of your stature, Wren. I’m pleased to meet you, I’m—,”

“Ferdinand von Aegir, yes, I know, I heard you yelling it earlier.”

Ferdinand deflates. “Oh. Yes, well, regardless, I’m the legitimate heir to the Aegir household, and future Prime Minister of the Empire, so if you’re looking to establish favorable relations with Fódlan, look no further.”

“You couldn’t establish favorable relations with a rock, let alone a foreign country.” A young man with black hair and bright, green eyes scoffs next to him.

“How can you possibly know that? You have never seen me _try_ to establish favorable relations with a rock!”

“Call it a hunch.” He turns his attention to Wren, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “My name is Hubert von Vestra, heir to House Vestra. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“I understand you were seen with that mercenary earlier. The one that helped Lady Edelgard earlier. Do you know anything about her?”

“Anything in particular? She was just showing me around the grounds—,”

“Her past? Her fears? Her weaknesses?”

“. . . no, it didn’t really come up in conversation.”

“Pity.”

“Alright, then.” Wren moves next to the girl with curly purple hair and gray eyes. “Hello.”

“H-hi.” She swallows. “My name is Bernadetta von Varley.”

“Nice to meet you, Bernadetta.”

“Right, okay, that’s enough.” She turns, grabs her things, and shuffles past Wren out the door, running around the corner out of sight.

“And I guess that’s enough.” Wren turns back to the others. “So tell me a little bit about your House leader.”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow. “You want to know more about Edelgard?”

“Why would you want to know more about Lady Edelgard?”

“I need to pick a House to enroll in, and obviously an important part of that decision is the student who leads that House. Come on, indulge me a little.”

“Well, really, what isn’t there to say about Edie?” Dorothea taps a finger against her cheek. “She’s strong-willed, she’s passionate, she can lift an axe with one hand like it’s nothing—,”

“Yeah, that’s it. Edelgard always fights for what she believes in, and she never backs down.” Caspar pumps his fist, then falters. “Well, I guess unless it’s strategically necessary, but tactics and strategic retreats have never been my thing.”

Linhardt raises their head. “She’s a bit of a nag, to be honest.”

“Linhardt!”

“No, no, it’s alright, I wanted honesty.” Wren moves between Hubert and Linhardt. “Honesty is good! Really, it’ll make my decision easier.”

“I suppose she has the makings of a good leader,” Ferdinand begins. “But if you were to ask me—,”

“Which nobody did.” Hubert cuts him off and then turns to Wren. “I suspect that is sufficient information to go off of?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to keep you from your evening activities, but this has been extremely helpful. I can’t thank you enough.” Wren bows deeply. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening, and I look forward to seeing you around the Monastery.”

“So formal! Goodbye Wren!” Dorothea waves as she leaves.

Wren hurries across the courtyard and into the Reception Hall, up the stairs and finds Byleth waiting for her on one of the benches outside the Audience Chamber.

“Oh. Have you finished meeting the other students?”

“Yes, I have. They were all very nice, but all this talking has me worn out.” Wren rubs her jaw. “I’m going to be feeling this for weeks.”

Byleth stands and approaches the doors. “So you’ve reached a decision then?”

Wren hesitates, watching Byleth’s back closely. Her heart stutters in her chest as she does, feeling something in her stomach tighten and pull when she looks at her. She closes her mind, tries to organize her thoughts and think back on all that’s happened that day, but the moment she opens her eyes, she feels again. The aching pull in her chest, something demanding to be heard, be obeyed.

“Wren?”

“Yes, Professor,” Wren manages to force the words out. “I’m ready.”

Byleth pushes the doors open and they head inside, where Rhea, Seteth, Manuela, and Hanneman await them.

“So you had a chance to meet all the students and see the grounds? What did you think?” Rhea asks.

“It was nice.”

Rhea smiles, then turns to Wren. “And what did you think, Miss Yabut?”

“The grounds were lovely, Lady Rhea, and the students showed remarkable hospitality. It’s a shame I can only enroll in one House.”

“Speaking of which, let’s get down to business, then.” Seteth focuses on Wren. “We’ll start with you, Wren. Which House have you decided to enroll in?”

Wren licks her lips, looking from Seteth to Byleth. “If it’s alright with you, and the Professor, of course, I’d like to enroll in whatever House she chooses to lead.”

“An interesting request. May I ask why?”

“Professor Byleth is obviously of great skill, and it’s come to my attention that she is also new to the Officer’s Academy. I know I could learn a lot from her teaching, and we could help each other adjust to the way of life here in the Academy quicker with the support of another outsider who can empathize with each other’s struggles.”

Seteth considers her words and then nods. “A reasonable request. Professor, do you agree?”

Byleth stands still for a moment and then turns to face Wren. “I agree.”

“Excellent! Then all that remains is for you to pick a House to lead.” Hanneman and Manuela step forward, handing Byleth three class rosters. “The Blue Lions of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the Golden Deer of the Leicester Alliance, or the Black Eagles of the Adrestian Empire. Who do you choose, Professor?”

Byleth looks over the rosters, the sound of rustling parchment barely filling the tense silence of the Audience Chamber as the rest watch her work. Wren stands with hands behind her back, fingers twisting in her gloves as she waits. Finally, Byleth pulls one roster separate from the rest and hands them back to Hanneman and Manuela.

“I choose the Black Eagle House.”

“Excellent. Manuela and I will sort the other Houses amongst ourselves, and I will take care of the paperwork needed to get Miss Yabut all settled into the Black Eagles. Allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to the Officer’s Academy, Your Highness.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. “Your Highness?”

“I’ll explain later, but I would prefer to be called Wren, if that’s alright. I think titles are a little unnecessary here, especially so far removed from my home country where it would bear any sort of weight.”

“Well, regardless, welcome to the Officer’s Academy, Wren,” Manuela says. “I hope I don’t see you in my office too often.”

“Is that your way of telling me not to be a troublemaker?”

“Then you have chosen to walk your paths together.” Rhea smiles, holding a hand out to Wren. “Wren, I wish you excellence and ask that you remember we are always here for guidance should you need it, especially when you are so far from home. Professor, I ask that you keep an open heart and mind when teaching our students. Remember that they carry the power to shape our future.”

Seteth frowns and continues. “It is an honor to teach them. Remember that.”

He opens his mouth to continue when the doors open and a young girl with dark green hair rushes in. Her curls bounce and sway as she rushes past the professors and Wren to reach Seteth, whose mouth dries up and posture goes rigid at the sight of her, eyes darting from her to Byleth and back.

“Brother, I . . . am interrupting something. I apologize!”

“I am almost finished, Flayn. Is there an emergency?”

“No, nothing, nothing. But . . . .” Her gaze wanders over Byleth and Wren, curious green gaze searching for something. “Who are they?”

“This is our newest professor and transfer student.”

“A new professor and student! How wonderful to meet you both! I am Seteth’s little sister, Flayn.”

Wren chuckles and bows. “And how nice to meet you, Flayn.”

“Let us get back on track,” Seteth says. “Professor Byleth, there is something else you should know: we will be having a mock battle between the three houses in a few days as a sort of test in order to gauge the students’ progress. We will also use this opportunity to witness your abilities for ourselves. Do not disappoint. Have a good evening.”

Byleth, Hanneman, Manuela, and Wren exit the Audience Chamber. Once the doors close, Manuela groans loudly.

“That Seteth, always so uptight! And what are they thinking, throwing you into a mock battle so suddenly!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and looks at Byleth and Wren. “Well, it looks like they’re going to be throwing you into the deep end to see if you can swim.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so dramatic, Manuela, especially in front of a student. Though, I admit, it does seem a little extreme.” Hanneman polishes his monocle. “The students have no more classes for the day, but we’ll gather them at your classroom so you can introduce yourselves formally before tomorrow. You’ll want to dive right into training if you want to be ready for the mock battle.”

“Hey, who is this ‘we?’ You got a mouse in your pocket or something?”

“Come now. We should help our new colleague out just for her first day.”

“Fine, fine.” Manuela points at Byleth. “But just for today, okay?”

Hanneman and Manuela head down the stairs, leaving Byleth and Wren alone. Wren turns to Byleth and smiles.

“So the Black Eagle House, hm? Why them?”

“It just felt right.” Byleth pauses, staring at Wren. “Why did you want whichever House I chose?”

“It’s like I said in there, we’re both outsiders to this whole Church thing, right? I think we could help each other.” Wren holds out her hand. “I think we’re going to be very good friends, Professor.”

Byleth stares at Wren’s hand, unsure of how to proceed. She had seen this interaction before, sure, but something had always been involved: money, food, shelter, it was always some sort of transaction. Something given, something taken. But Wren has nothing but a smile, nothing but words. So she stares and waits for something else, and it drags on until both shift uncomfortably where they stand.

“Maybe you don’t shake with your friends?”

“I don’t have any.”

Wren’s smile falters, then falls completely. “You’ve . . . never had any friends before?”

“No. I was a mercenary.”

It’s a simple explanation, really. She never had the time, never had the need, and it was never something she really missed. Wren seems thrown off her rhythm a moment from her explanation, but perks up a moment later, new resolve burning in her eye.

“Then I’ll be your first.” Wren holds her hand out again. “I won’t let you down, Professor!”

Byleth stares again and then reaches out, shaking Wren’s hand. She’s surprised how warm it is through the thick leather of her gloves, how her grip is just a little too tight for someone of noble birth, but she shakes as well.

“Well, Professor, I’m ready to head out whenever you are. Professors Hanneman and Manuela should have been able to gather up the other students by now.”

Byleth agrees and they head over to the Black Eagles classroom, where the students sit scattered across desks, murmuring and whispering to each other in confusion and suspicion. Only Edelgard and Hubert stand at the front of the room beside the chalkboard, watching the door for their arrival. When they do, Hubert clears his throat loudly and motions to the classroom entrance.

“Wait, _you’re_ our new professor?” Ferdinand stands and approaches Byleth first, hands on his hips. “That cannot be right. You are far too young.”

“Now, Ferdinand, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Edelgard moves to interrupt him.

“Lady Edelgard saw the mercenary’s skills for herself. She said they were more than adequate.”

“So you’re going to be our new professor, huh? I thought for sure it was gonna be that Jeritza guy. He’s totally awesome— _not_ that I don’t think you’re gonna be a great professor, too, it’s just that he’s _so cool_ —,”

Linhardt jabs Caspar in the side. “Stop talking. You can’t fit _both_ feet in your mouth, or you’ll fall over. Again.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the students buzz over the new professor when they’re not too busy bickering or getting distracted by each other. Over the din, Edelgard apologizes, insisting that it isn’t always like this, when she notices Wren hanging back by the entrance. Byleth steps aside and motions to her.

“And Wren Yabut has chosen to enroll in your House as well.”

“Oh, yeah!” Caspar rushes forward. “I knew you would! After you left, I was like—,”

“Just take his word for it,” Edelgard says. “It’s nice to have you as part of our House, Wren.”

“Likewise—,”

“Oh, actually, Edelgard, Wren is a princess!” Ferdinand points out. “And as such, she should be treated with the required formalities.”

“Ferdinand, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“It really isn’t.” Wren waves her hand at him with a sheepish grin. “Really, a title isn’t necessary for me. Please, just call me Wren.”

Edelgard nods. “Then you’ll understand the reason when I ask you to do the same. All of you. No titles, please. We’re all equals here.”

“A reasonable request.”

Edelgard looks to Byleth. “Now, Professor, I’m sure you’ve been told about the upcoming mock battle. How should we approach our upcoming training with a new addition to the class roster?”

Byleth considers her question for a moment, and then looks at Wren. She turns to the class. “Training grounds. Tomorrow morning. We’ll assess skills to decide the squad.”

An affirmative murmur goes through the class and they disperse for the evening, Wren and Byleth left behind in the classroom. Wren hops on the balls of her feet, turning to Byleth with a bright smile.

“I think they liked me, Professor! And I think they liked you, too! This is gonna be great!” She rushes out the door into the night, waving behind her. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning!”

* * *

She does. Wren arrives first to the training grounds in fact, Byleth and the other students trickling in as the sun begins to rise and chase away the pinks of dawn. The rest of the class picks up their preferred weapons and begins to stretch and practice their swings while Wren peruses the racks leisurely.

“Looking for something in particular?” Byleth looks over the racks herself and asks. “It might be in the armory.”

“Ah, no thank you, Professor, but I appreciate you asking. I specialize in magic.” Wren flexes her fingers. “My father trained my siblings and I in many forms of weaponry, but only I was gifted with magic, and he sought out the best magicians and sorcerers for my tutelage.”

“How lucky.” Byleth looks at the other students. “We’ll start soon. You should have a back-up weapon.”

“Of course,” She says with a twinge of sadness, a frown and faint sorrow in her eyes as she turns away to examine a dagger. “How lucky of me.”

Wren places the dagger on her belt and lines up with the other student while Byleth calls for their attention and explains the day’s training. She watches like a hawk, impassive and expressionless, as the students run through the exercises against training dummies and then against each other. She tries to ignore the spreading pain in the back of the head, the tightness in her chest, and rush of feeling like she has been here before with every clash of steel, every clang of metal, every spell flung. Byleth looks to Wren, sparring against Linhardt, and the roar in her head and chest subsides. Linhardt’s spells are strong, their technique flawless, but Wren is relentless, merciless, guerilla-like in her assault. Linhardt’s flat on their back and breathless in seconds with Wren’s dagger against their throat.

“Not bad for the new kid.”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Maybe I can show you sometime. You have a pretty solid foundation.”

“There’s no need to flatter me, Wren, I already said you did good.”

Wren helps them up and dusts off their uniform as Byleth signals for rotations for finish. The sun is high in the sky by this point, and everyone breathes hard to recover.

“Good, uh, work today. I think I’ve got the roster.”

The students gather around and look at Byleth, expectant and hopeful. She clears her throat and looks down at her notes, suddenly nervous.

“Our squad for the mock battle will be Edelgard, Hubert, Petra, Wren, and myself.” Byleth clears her throat. “Any questions?”

The students shake their heads and Byleth dismisses them. A chorus of “thank you, Professor,” sounds as they replace their weapons on the racks and leave to clean up for the day. Wren leaves amongst the stragglers, waving goodbye to Byleth and giving a passing goodbye to Edelgard and Hubert on her way out. They watch her go in silence, waiting until Byleth leaves to speak.

“So?”

“Lady Edelgard, if she . . . becomes a problem, I can always dispose of her.”

“I’m not asking what you can do to her, I’m asking what you think of her.” Edelgard sighs and rubs her temples. “Both of them, really.”

“You want my opinion on the transfer student . . . and the Professor?”

“Yes.”

“Of Wren, based on today’s observations . . . I think she would be a good asset. If she is willing to believe us and take our side. As for the Professor . . . I have not seen her in action as you have. I would have a better assessment for you after the mock battle.”

“Very well, then.” Edelgard starts forward, Hubert following right after her. “Unfortunately, we will have to wait and see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo extra special two chapter release! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Not that exciting, but I figured for the anniversary of 3H's, I'd do at least one thing special since my art piece wasn't finished. But like I said last chapter, realistic update schedule will be once every 1-2 weeks due to COVID-19 work schedule :'(


	3. The Mock Battle

With the squad selected, Byleth spent the last few days of training focusing on tactics and unit cohesion, hoping to avoid first-time mistakes and quell nerves as the day of the mock battle arrived. The classes march to a nearby field, the Monastery barely in sight when they stop, marked by crumbling ruins and the rotting skeletons of houses. As the church officials assign portions of the field to each House, Byleth gathers her squad for one final tactics meeting while the rest of the class watches with the other Houses’ sidelined students.

“It appears to be more of a sectioned field than a free-for-all,” Edelgard says, watching Seteth march Hanneman and the Blue Lions towards a wall of white stone.

“It will be easier to divide and conquer than take both Houses on at once.” Byleth looks over her shoulder, seeing the Golden Deer take up defensive positions by a forested portion of the field. “We have some thicket on our half of the field, so we’ll need to draw them towards us and use that to our advantage.”

“So who will be our first target? And how will we be drawing them to us?” Hubert looks over the thicket with a frown. “I doubt they will just be charging towards us with reckless abandon.”

“You would be surprised,” Byleth says. “We’ll need someone to draw them towards our forces hiding in the thicket. Edelgard, Petra, and I will draw them towards Hubert and Wren. Got it?”

“Yes, Professor!”

“Good. Take positions.”

Edelgard and Petra follow Byleth to the edge of their territory, while Wren and Hubert trudge through the thicket in search of a suitable ambush spot. The thicket is heavy and dark, some spots blocking the sun completely as rough branches and sharp thorns tugs at the edges of their uniforms. They settle on the edge where they can barely make out their allies through the brush, and wait as Seteth gives the signal to begin. Wren crouches down and anxiously adjusts her gloves. The battle is pretend, she knows that, but standing in mud on a crisp morning in some field she doesn’t know the name of suddenly makes it all seem very, very real to her.

“How are you feeling this morning, Hubert?”

He says nothing in return, pale green eyes watching the battlefield in front of them closely.

“You know, I was surprised to be chosen for the squad after joining the class so soon. I didn’t think I’d mesh well with the others enough to be out here.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Yes, I’m not sure what to—,”

“A little advice?” Hubert looks at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Spend a little less time wondering how you got here. You are here on your merits that you’ve proven to the professor. Now it’s time to live up to them.”

Wren blinks, the clash of metal from in front of them drawing her attention to the battle. “I, uh, right. Here they come.”

“I hope they’re ready.” Hubert prepares a ball of dark magic, the dark flames illuminating the wicked smile on his face. “It’s going to be a slaughter.”

“It’s sparring. I sure hope not.”

Wren shakes her head and prepares her own spells. Byleth, Edelgard, and Petra fall back, giving way for Dimitri and Dedue to charge after them, with Ashe bringing up the rear with his bow. Dimitri aims a powerful lunge towards Edelgard, but she jumps away at the last second, and Hubert leaps out of the thicket in an instant. His magic strikes Dimitri full in the chest, sending him stumbling back. He looks over to where Dedue stands off against Byleth, and Ashe nocks another arrow aimed towards Petra.

“Get away from the thicket!” He waves his lance back towards their territory. “Regroup! They’re—,”

But he’s too late to stop. Streaks of lightning stream from Wren’s fingertips straight at Dedue, his block useless as they arc over his body and bring him to his knees, Seteth declaring him defeated.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, but my battle ends here,” Dedue grunts, hefting himself to his knees by his axe. A shadow falls over him, a hand appearing in front of his face when he looks up. “What is this?”

“Um, I’m helping you up?” Wren cocks her eyebrow. “I think I went a little overboard with that thunder spell. Sorry about that.”

Dedue hesitates for a moment and then takes her hand, pulling himself to his feet and then turning to the sidelines. He looks back over his shoulder at Wren, who smiles and waves before darting back into the fray against Ashe with Petra, Byleth calling out orders in the distance as Mercedes comes in with her bow to offer support. Petra weaves between Ashe’s arrows, looking for an opening when a fireball lands at his feet and throws him off-balance. Wren appears in her peripheral, hand still smoking.

“Petra, now!”

She surges forward, eyes focused on Ashe’s hands as he tries to nock another arrow before she reaches him. Her sword pries the bow out of his grasp and knocks him into the dirt, blade pressed to his throat as her knee digs into his stomach.

“You will be surrendering now.”

“Yes, yes I will! I surrender!”

Petra stands with a satisfied smile as she dusts herself off, Ashe slinking off to join the others on the sidelines. Wren jogs over to join her, but stops short, pointing to the ridge behind her.

“Look out!”

Wren breaks into a run, reaching out for her as Petra turns in time to see an arrow cutting through the air towards her. Wren’s body collides with her own and knocks the wind out of her, but she’s too late. A sharp pain starts in her shoulder and radiates down her entire arm and into her chest as she and Wren take cover behind a large rock.

“How’s it look?”

“Lone archer. They are standing on the ridge.” Petra peeks around the rock. “If we are split, one of us can be getting to her.”

“Petra, I meant your shoulder.”

“Oh?” Petra looks down at her shoulder. The fabric of her shirt has torn and stained with blood where the arrow nicked her, and already she can feel the joint swell. “It will be fixing easily. You are hurt, too.”

“Hm?” Wren feels wetness on her sleeve for the first time and looks down where the arrow cut along the length of her forearm. “Oh, shit, she’s got good aim.”

“We should not be underestimating her.”

Wren nods, poking her head out above the rock, only to duck back down when an arrow sails overhead again. “Let’s hope the others are faring better than us.”

* * *

Dimitri pounces forward, sweeping his lance low. Edelgard deftly hops over it, twirling her axe as she slams it down on him. He narrowly slides away and moves to press forward again when he feels his feet sink easily into the dirt the moment he puts pressure on it. All around him the ground darkens and bubbles, churning as Hubert mutters and incantation some distance away. Dimitri tears his foot free, cursing when his other foot sinks in as a result.

“Is this how you intend to win? By exhausting me in this filth?”

“Of course not. I’m distracting you.”

Dimitri’s eyes widen when he realizes he hears footsteps behind him. He turns and raises his lance just as Edelgard’s axe smashes into him. His lance bends and gives way as the force throws him off his feet and sends him into the air, landing on the ground a good distance away. He takes a moment to regain his breath and sits up, Seteth declaring him out.

“A . . . shrewd tactic, Edelgard.”

“It was.” Edelgard examines her axe nonchalantly, the sunlight glinting off the blade. “But up until that point, you put up a good fight.”

Dimitri stands, looking to the sidelines. “I wish you luck against the Golden Deer. I hope they provide more of a challenge for you.”

They watch him leave, Edelgard turning to look out over the Golden Deer’s territory. She rests her axe on her shoulder. A rustle from the brush gets their attention, and they ready their weapons as Byleth emerges.

“I was wondering where you were, Professor.” Hubert nods towards the enemy territories. “What can you tell us?”

“Professor Hanneman is holed up in some ruins and it doesn’t look like he’s coming out any time soon, so we’re going to have to go after him directly.” Byleth rubs her chin. “The Golden Deer and Manuela are just past this forest. They’ve set up some barricades, but we can avoid them by going through the brush.”

“I suspect you already have a plan to move forward once our teammates join us.” Hubert turns and looks towards the other side of the field. “Speaking of which, where _are_ Wren and Petra?”

As he speaks, Wren darts out from behind a rock in a large arc, an arrow whizzing just past her head. She looses a stream of lightning towards the ridge and a loud yelp sounds as Mercedes loses her footing and tumbles down to the ground, where Petra waits for her. She surrenders her bow with a bright, cheery smile and leaves the field. Hubert’s frown deepens when he sees them approach.

“I see you had a close run in with an arrow. How careless.”

Wren shrugs. “It’s just a couple of scratches. No big deal.”

“In a real battle, they could have been poisoned, and you would be dead.”

Edelgard sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Hubert, enough, this is simply practice.” She turns to Wren and Petra. “But you should definitely get those looked at in the infirmary once we’re done here.”

“I am thankful for your concern. What will we be doing next, Professor?”

“We take out Hanneman to finish off the Blue Lions and then move through the forest to try and take the Golden Deer by surprise.”

The students agree and follow Byleth into Blue Lion territory. They approach a set of crumbling ruins, pillars of white stone that might have once formed a tower or a wall, their truth lost to history, where Hanneman lies in wait. Byleth, Edelgard, and Wren surround him on three sides and move at once, the professor unable to counter three attacks at once and retires with dignity.

They move quickly and silently through the forest, the thick brush obscuring them from view but making it difficult to stay hidden with leaves and twigs covering the floor. Byleth, Edelgard, and Petra move forward first, while Wren and Hubert bring up the rear. Byleth stops, a tingling sensation at the back of her head growing into a full blown headache as her eyes slowly sweep the area.

 _“We’ve been here before,”_ A girl’s voice whispers in her mind. “ _Try to remember. Something happened here. Remember!”_

A twig snaps to their side and everyone whirls in that direction just as Lorenz bursts out of hiding, lance poised to strike at Hubert with a high-pitched laugh.

“Hahaha! Gotcha! As if you ever stood a chance against a noble as refined as me!”

“It’s a flank!” Byleth starts forward, sword in hand. “Hubert—!”

She sees it happen before her eyes, like it had happened a thousand times before: _Lorenz’s lance pierces Hubert’s shoulder. Blood, dark red and plentiful, streams down his arm and chest as soldiers carry him off the field. Then, he lies in the infirmary bed, paler than ever before and sweat on his brow. Professor Manuela is right at her side, but her voice is also so far away at the same time. An infection. Carried through his entire body via his bloodstream. They don’t know how long he has left._

The world slows down as Lorenz’s lance inches closer and closer to Hubert, whose feet slip on the mud and leaves of the forest floor. Then a hand grabs him by the back of his shirt and rips him out of the way, and everything returns to normal. Lorenz stabs his lance into the ground with a confused yelp, and Hilda appears at his side with an unimpressed groan. An arrow Byleth hadn’t noticed whizzes just by her ear and lodges itself in one of the trees behind her, and another goes just wide of Edelgard.

“They were sitting ducks, Lorenz, and you missed them! You ruined _everything_!”

“Well, there goes the element of surprise,” Claude laments with a fake pout, appearing behind both of them with Ignatz. “I guess this is where it happens. May the best team win.”

But Byleth is too busy looking at her students—looking for Hubert. “Where . . . ? Who . . . ?”

Finally, she sees him, sprawled on the dirt with Wren’s hand still fisted in his uniform. She hoists him up to his feet and brushes him clean, clapping him on the back.

“Be careful, Hubert. You almost got skewered.”

“I—,”

“Hubert, Wren, focus on the archers!”

Lorenz rips his lance out of the ground and charges forward. The two sides clash, moving in and out of the brush and between the trees to get the upper hand on their opponent. He leaps at Petra, using his lance to keep her at a distance to his advantage and stabs forward, but Petra is quicker. She darts around his attack and knocks his lance aside, forcing it out of his grip and flying into a pile of leaves. When she closes in on him, defenseless, he surrenders, but not before she lands a devastating jab in his ribs and he’s forced to retire. 

Her victory is short lived. Claude eliminates her moments later with a well-placed arrow to her injured arm, and then spins around and eliminates Hubert who was sneaking up on him for good measure. He twirls one of his free arrows in his hand as he watches them stalk towards the sidelines together, turning with the intention of hiding in some brush to find his next victim when it suddenly goes up in flames. Claude falls flat on his back in surprise, scrambling back onto his feet when a body leaps through the flames and hurls another fireball directly at him, reducing his bow to cinders. He stares, stunned for a moment, and then laughs as he accepts the hand offered to him.

“Not bad, Wren. Not bad at all.”

“Can’t have you eliminating my team without any sort of consequences. I hope you understand.”

“Perfectly.” Claude looks over to where the officials are calling his name, pulling back his cape to reveal a dagger on his belt. “But you should know you’re lucky I’m not allowed to strike after I’ve been eliminated.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s lucky, and you just don’t know it.”

Claude’s grin widens at the edge of steel in her voice, squeezing her hand before letting go and sauntering off towards the sidelines. A loud crash from further in the forest reminds Wren she has other things to be doing, and she hurries in the direction of the sound. Edelgard faces Hilda, axes clashing against each other with metallic tings that reverberate against the trees around them. Ignatz stands at the edge of their fight, arrow nocked and trying to get a clear shot while avoiding Byleth’s assault. He sets his feet, Edelgard finally in his sights, when Byleth crashes through the branches behind him, sword cutting deep into the tree where he had stood just moments before. He looks over his shoulder as he sprints away, weaving through the trees when he hears Hilda call out to him.

“Ignatz, stop!”

_THUNK!_

He feels the air leave his lungs and he crashes to the ground, thankful that while he may have lost his weapon, his glasses managed to stay on. Sharp pain blossoms between his shoulder blades as he gingerly turns himself over and sees an axe on the ground beside him. Edelgard’s axe. He distantly hears one of the Church officials declare him eliminated as Byleth steps beside him, offering her hand to help him up and then sends him on his way.

Hilda, while never a fan of working harder, was never one to miss an opportunity. And Edelgard without a weapon was certainly a _huge_ opportunity to eliminate her. She swings with all her might, but Edelgard is fast and dodges each of her attacks, even if it is just barely. She thinks she connects for a second, then feels Edelgard’s gloved hand wrap around her wrist and pull her forward, leg braced against her ankle to flip her flat on her back and disarm her in one fell-swoop. Edelgard holds the axe to her throat, waiting until she has confirmation Hilda is eliminated to remove it.

“That’s such a cheap move!”

“Cheap? I simply used your momentum against you.” Edelgard rests the axe against the ground. “Though I do have to commend your initiative to attack me when I was weaponless.”

“I—well—whatever. It was still a cheap move.” Hilda stomps off toward the sidelines.

“Excellent technique, Edelgard.” Byleth scans the forest. “Did you hear if Wren got eliminated? I was too focused on Ignatz.”

“I did not. I was hoping you were listening.”

“And lucky for you both, I am still in this.” Wren emerges from the forest with her arms open and a grand smile. “So all that’s left is Professor Manuela, right?”

Byleth stares at her, replaying the moment in her mind again where Wren swiped Hubert from what she was sure would be his death. What she _knew_ would be his death.

“Professor?” Wren waves her hand in front of her face. “Professor Byleth? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Byleth shakes herself awake. “Professor Manuela should be just ahead.”

They move to the edge of the forest and see Manuela waiting in a clearing just beyond. The three of them fan out and then strike. Manuela focuses on Byleth, her powerful magic able to hold the Professor off just long enough for Wren and Edelgard to get in close. Realizing her error, Manuela whirls and goes for Edelgard next, but Wren launches a fireball at the rotten wood around her feet, sending dark smoke into the air around her. When she’s momentarily blinded, Edelgard strikes, and Manuela is able to move out of the way just in time, but it puts her right in the path of Byleth. She holds the blade to Manuela’s throat, blue eyes blazing in the light of the flames.

“Surrender.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get so worked up.” Manuela rolls her eyes. “I surrender. Just tell me you beat that old man before me.”

“That concludes the mock battle. The winner is the Black Eagle House.” Seteth motions towards the sidelines. “Everyone, please return to the group so the wounded can receive first aid before we begin the trip back to the Monastery.”

“Not bad, Professor. I think we may have to keep an eye on you yet.” Manuela’s eyes fall to Wren’s bloody sleeve. “Oh? What happened here?”

“Hm? Just got nicked by an arrow. You should probably look at Petra first, Professor, she got the worst of it.”

“Let me give you some advice, kid: when someone offers you help, don’t be so eager to foist it off on someone else.”

“I, uh, yes, Professor.”

“Perfect, now let’s look at this arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! I appreciate it!
> 
> I hope you look forward to the next chapter!


	4. Lessons Learned

A week later, Byleth stands before the class lecturing about proper sword technique and different fighting styles, but the mock battle still lingers in her mind. Specifically, her visions of Hubert, who sits diligently in the front row beside Edelgard and watches from behind steepled fingers, who died of infection from a lance at the hands of Lorenz. Byleth had felt the certainty of this event, felt her stomach turn just at the thought, but just as quickly Wren snatched him from the jaws of a certain death.

 _“That is the second time she has done that_ , _”_ A voice whispers as she wraps up the lecture for the day. Byleth freezes, as though the owner of the voice is right beside her ear. _“You felt it before, didn’t you? On the day you become a professor here.”_

She looks over her shoulder, finding no one there. She rubs her forehead and shakes her head. Just this morning she had woken from a dream that had felt so real, like she had lived it before: _The training grounds decorated, students fought with wooden weapons, loud cheers boomed in her ears, Petra stood, victorious._

_“You are remembering these things for a reason.”_

Byleth pointedly ignores the voice and exits the classroom to find Wren waiting for her outside, journal in hand and scribbling notes down inside. She looks up and sees Byleth and waves her over, closing the journal when she gets close enough and tying it shut with a worn, grey ribbon.

“Professor, I had some questions for you about my lesson plan. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”

They walk through the courtyard, stone archways casting long, dark shadows over the stone paths and grass, and enter the reception hall.

Wren takes a seat across from Byleth and opens her journal. “I understand magic, Professor, and horseback I can also understand. Equestrian training is one of the foremost in nobility where I’m from.”

“Is this about Ferdinand? Is this because of stable duty with Ferdinand?”

“What? No. Stable duty with Ferdinand is fine. I’m confused as to why you’re having me concentrate on the sword as well?”

“I saw you handle that dagger during training. You seem to have an aptitude for blades.” Byleth takes out her own notes, flipping to Wren’s study plan. “I think if you developed and honed that skill, it would be beneficial on the battlefield. Like I said, you won’t always be able to rely on magic.”

“Isn’t that why I’m on a horse? So I can run away?”

“You’re starting to sound like Claude.”

“Strategic retreats can be a valid course of action in certain situations.” Wren runs a hand through her hair. “Sorry, Professor, I just get . . . nervous when it comes to the thought of handling a sword. I’m not very good at other forms of fighting.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You showed a lot of promise with that dagger.”

“Yeah . . .” Wren stands up, smile plastered on her face, and motions towards the dining hall. “But we should get to dinner, yeah? Gotta get in line before all the good stuff is gone.”

Byleth hesitates, watching Wren walk towards the door before getting up and following her. Inside the dining hall, students bustling about in groups, balancing trays of delicious food in the warm, low lights of the candles. Wren and Byleth stand in line, watching the others closely until it’s their turn to take food. As they scan the tables for a place to sit, Edelgard approaches them with her own tray.

“Professor, there you are. I was thinking we could discuss our mission? Wren, you’re welcome to join us.”

“That sounds—,”

“I’m going to have to decline, unfortunately. I’ve got some work to do of my own,” Wren says, tapping her journal. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good dinner company tonight. Perhaps some other time?”

Edelgard inclines her head, eyes looking over Wren slowly. “Some other time, then.”

“Oh, alright then.” Byleth nods as Wren heads further off into the dining hall, taking a seat at the far end of a deserted table. “Let’s find some seats.”

“Excellent,” Edelgard leads Byleth to a pair of seats across from each other. “So we’ve been tasked with bandit removal in the Red Canyon this month.”

“What can you tell me about the Red Canyon?”

“Only stories that I’ve heard, or things I’ve read. I’ve never been there, myself. We can expect a lot of ruins, a lot of places where bandits can hide or ambush us. We’ll have to proceed with caution.”

“We’ll be able to form a more cohesive battle plan when we can survey the terrain in-person.” Byleth blinks, visions of crumbling staircases and towering archways swirling before her fingertips. “Our best shot might be a pincer formation.”

“Oh? I think that call might be better suited for when we’ve seen the terrain, like you said.”

“It’ll work.” Byleth rubs her eyes. “In any case, we’ll need to focus on the leader. Kill the leader, and the survivors’ morale will plummet. Those who don’t flee will be easy to take care of.”

“Sounds like your class got the exciting assignment for the month,” Claude says as he stops beside them with a stunning smile and twinkle in his eye, Dimitri at his side. “May we join you? I’d do anything to hear about an _actual_ mission.”

“Claude, we shouldn’t intrude. It’d be rude to insert ourselves into their discussion.”

“We had just finished, unfortunately.” Edelgard shifts to look at them better. “You’re welcome to join and tell us about your missions though. Something about—?”

“Ugh, don’t even say it! I’d do anything to go on a real mission.” Claude settles beside Edelgard, while Dimitri goes around the table to sit beside Byleth, a frown on his face.

“Don’t speak that way, Claude. It’s an honor to work for the betterment of the people in any way we can.”

“I’m sure you think it is.” Claude’s lips part in a smile, but his eyes narrow dangerously. “Anyway, I wanna hear more from Edelgard and Teach. Do you know anything more about these bandits?”

“Just that they’ve chosen to hole up in the Red Canyon. It’s sacred to the Church, so that’s why they’ve tasked the Knights—and us—to drive them out.” Edelgard shakes her head. “It seems strange to ask students and knights to do such a menial task but I suppose the combat experience will be beneficial.”

“Speaking of combat, I don’t think I congratulated you and Teach on your win in the mock battle! Congrats. May it carry over well in your bandit eradication.”

“Yes, I must agree. Your performance was incredible. We fell for your ambush like amateurs.” Dimitri looks to Byleth. “I must ask that we spar sometime, Professor. I’d love to be able to test myself against you.”

“Maybe, Dimitri.” Byleth smiles at him, but her eyes fall on Wren just over his shoulder.

Her food sits untouched, her shoulders hunched as she writes in her journal. The speed at which her quill moves is almost uncanny, occasionally brushing against her cheek as she gets towards the edge of a page. Her eyes dart back and forth, scanning the words she hastily scribbles, muttering something under her breath as she writes. And she writes, and she writes, and she writes, flipping page after page, each one filled with words that Byleth can barely make out. Every now and then Wren pauses, sets down the quill and rubs her wrist, stretching it out and moving it in tight circles to loosen up the muscles before diving right back in again.

And just as suddenly, she stops, sitting up straight and snapping the journal shut. She ties the ribbon and shoves the quill in her bag, but tucks the journal away inside her uniform jacket before starting on her (presumably) cold dinner. Byleth moves to stand when she hears the conversation behind her turn to her.

“What do you think, Professor?”

She turns, finding three sets of eyes on her, waiting expectantly for an answer. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We asked what you thought of going to the Red Canyon,” Dimitri repeats. “Not many people visit, and you have traveled much of Fódlan. Have you been before?”

“Probably not. Teach stayed away from Church stuff, right? This’ll probably be just as new to her as the Imperial Princess, right?”

“I haven’t been to the Red Canyon before, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out.” Edelgard rolls her eyes. “Anything else you’d like to know while you’re at it?”

“Just your deepest, darkest secrets, if you’re handing them out.”

“Claude, that’s enough!”

Byleth looks to Dimitri, his brows drawn together in agitation, surprised something so innocuous would rile him up, and the expressions on Edelgard and Claude’s faces say the same. He closes his eyes and composes himself.

“I’m sorry, Claude. It’s just that this dinner is between the three heads of the Houses. We should be setting an example for the other students, not trying to cause a scene.”

“The only one causing a scene here is you, Your Highness. I was just playing, right Princess?”

“While your concern is appreciated, Dimitri, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” Edelgard smirks at Claude. “Especially against an opponent as obviously underprepared as you.”

“Ohoho, the gauntlet is thrown! And with such confidence! We’ll see who’s underprepared come the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.” Claude rubs his hands together. “I don’t think I can wait until then. We should play chess sometime, Princess. Perhaps over tea?”

Edelgard chuckles. “Threatening to beat my House one moment, then asking me out to tea the next. How bold!”

Dimitri’s eyes flit between the two. “I don’t understand if you two are arguing or getting along now.”

The three converse amongst themselves, Byleth’s eyes drawn back to Wren across the dining hall as she stands and collects her empty dishes and returns them to the kitchen staff. Byleth excuses herself and follows her, catching her just by the fishing pond and heading towards the student dormitories. The torches along the tall, stone walls offer some light, but the stone pavilion is mostly illuminated by the moon at this time of night, high and bright in the sky, reflecting lashes of silver against the black pond.

“Wren!”

She stops in the moonlight, teal eye stark against the shadows. “Professor? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Is there something wrong?”

Wren stares. “What would make you say that?”

“I saw you writing in your journal. You seemed . . . distressed.” Byleth frowns, struggling to put words to the look on Wren’s face. “And earlier when we were talking about the sword lessons, you seemed upset. Is everything alright?”

Wren pauses, eye drawn to the dark waters that lap peacefully against the edge of the pond. On any other night, Byleth would think it soothing, but now each time the water slaps the stone is like nails on a chalkboard for every second the silence drags on. When Wren looks back at Byleth, a smile brightens her face.

“Thank you, Professor, really, but it’s nothing. I’m just nervous about letting you and the others down because I’m not very good with a sword. Have a good night.”

Wren nods to her and then turns, disappearing into the shadows around the corner. Byleth stands in front of the fishing pond for a long time, replaying the conversation over and over in her head, when her eyes wander to the bulletin board hanging on the fishmaster’s hut. Two steps and she closes the distance between her and it. She yanks down the flier for the upcoming sword tournament, Wren’s face and her dream from earlier coming to her at once.

Maybe the Academy’s over-programming would allow her to kill two birds with one stone.

* * *

Early morning slots of the training grounds are hard to secure, but whether through divine intervention or wicked trickery, Byleth managed to secure one for herself, Dorothea, Petra, and Wren for personalized sword training. Petra moves like a born swordswoman, weaving between the wooden dummies and cutting deep slashes into their sides and heads. She stops on the other side of the training course, looking expectantly at Byleth. 

“Excellent work, Petra.” She turns to Wren and Dorothea. “Next person can go.”

Dorothea pushes Wren’s shoulder forward. “All you, Wrenny.”

Wren sputters, drawing her sword. “I hate you, Thea.”

“We’ll have tea later, and I’ll make it up to you.”

Wren shakes her head and charges into the course. She makes her way to the first dummy and strikes. Her sword connects; the cut is shallower than Petra’s, but the area is vital. She smiles, elated, and moves on to the next dummy. The blade wobbles in her grip and cuts unevenly, and she has to wrench it free, making her lose her balance. She stumbles to the next dummy and tries to regain her footing, making only a shallow cut across the chest. The final dummy enters her line of sight. Once she’s within range, she cries out in rage and swings with everything she has, cutting a deep gash across the dummy’s chest as she crosses the finish line to Petra and Byleth.

“Professor, I know—,” Wren begins, head still down and panting.

“It was good, Wren.”

Wren pauses to catch her breath. “It was . . . good?”

“It could use a little work, but it was a good start. You hit them all, and you kept form most of the time.” Byleth smiles. “We’ll work on keeping your footing.”

“My . . . footing?” Wren stands up straight, looking at Byleth like she doesn’t believe her.

“Yes, Wren! Your footing is of much importance. It is what will be powering your swings. Here, I will show you.”

Petra pulls Wren aside and demonstrates proper stance, how to distribute her weight and keep herself from falling over. After a couple of exercises, they relax, Wren stretching out her calf.

“You’re really knowledgeable about all this stuff, Petra. I’m not surprised the Professor asked you to help us.”

“I am appreciating your words.” Petra adjusts Wren’s arm placement. “Your height is an advantage you should be using. It will be giving you leverage over many foes.”

“I . . . hadn’t thought of that.”

“When in close combat with an opponent, you will need to be using every advantage to survive. It is important to remember that.”

“It’s certainly different from what I’m used to. I find it hard to believe that I’ll grow used to it, but if the Professor believes it’ll be useful, I’ll give it a try.”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Wren.” Byleth smiles as they turn to face her and Dorothea, freshly finished the training course. “I have a request for the three of you: the Academy is beginning it’s monthly tournaments with swords this month, and for the event, they’re allowing two students from each House to enter instead of one. I’d like two of you to enter to represent the Black Eagles.”

“Is Edie alright with that Professor? I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility of her picking up a sword and going in herself.”

“Edelgard does be seeming like the type to take charge considering the event.”

“I’m sure Edelgard would trust my judgement. Now, would any of you like to volunteer?”

“I would be honored to be representing the Black Eagles, Professor!” Petra spins her sword with a flourish. “The others will not know what will be hitting them!”

“Thank you, Petra.” Byleth turns to Wren and Dorothea, raising her eyebrow.

Wren and Dorothea’s eyes flicker to each other. Wren makes a sound in the back of her throat as her lips twist into a frown and Dorothea pats her shoulder.

“I’ll help you with kitchen duty next week—,”

“ _Two weeks_.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ugh, fine.” Wren crosses her arm and looks at Byleth. “I’ll do it, too, Professor.”

“Excellent. I think this can be a great experience for you, Wren. Fighting against real people is the fastest way to learn, after all, and fighting against others in the Monastery makes the environment much safer than fighting bandits.”

Wren breaks into a soft smile. “I . . . hadn’t seen it that way before, Professor. Thank you for the insight.”

“Of course. Now, I’m off to hand in your forms to the tournament organizers.”

“I’ll go with you—,”

“No! We will be practicing! We are having much to do before the tournament! You will not be embarrassing me!”

“Embarrassing? Harsh, but fair.” Wren watches Dorothea and Byleth retreat to the exit. “But Dorothea, our tea—?”

“Nice try, Wren, but we can get tea whenever. I’ll make time in my schedule just for you.” She winks over her shoulder. “You train hard, now!”

“Yeah, yeah, traitor.” Wren turns to Petra, drawing her sword and self-consciously adjusting her stance. “Go easy on me, okay?”

“No!”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

* * *

The training grounds had been transformed for the tournament. Banners for all three Houses swung from the high walls in the gentle breeze of the early morning, and the crates of supplies normally discarded at the edge had been brought to the forefront and stacked into seats for the students to sit on and watch. Racks of wooden swords from the armory stood at the edge of the ring for the fighters to choose, and spectators mill about to examine them before the event starts. Byleth leads Petra and Wren inside the training grounds with a smile and head held high. Caspar perks up from his seat and conversation with Linhardt, waving both arms over his head.

“Hey, Professor, over here! Glad to see you took my advice to enter the tournament. Those other fighters are in for it against our team!”

“Actually we are not being a team, Caspar.”

Wren’s head whips in her direction, eyes wide. “We’re what?”

“We are both representing the Black Eagles class, but we are also representing ourselves. There is only one winner.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll all be here cheering you on.” Edelgard and Hubert approach them from behind. She gives them both a small smile, and he nods. “I have the utmost faith that you’ll both do our House proud.”

Byleth places a hand on both Wren and Petra’s shoulders. Wren stiffens and shrugs her off discreetly. “We should go. They’re going to begin the bracket assignment soon. You two should pick your swords.”

“Good luck, Petra! Good luck, Wren!” Caspar cheers as they leave. “I have a good feeling about this. What do you think, Lin?”

Linhardt hums to themself, eyes focusing on Wren. “Interesting, for sure.”

“They certainly have some stiff competition,” Ferdinand says, looking at the Blue Lions and Golden Deer stands. Felix and Ingrid stand ready at the edge of the ring with their swords already chosen, and Claude and Marianne huddle with their classmates and Professor Manuela. His eyes wander back to Wren, Petra, and Byleth. “But I believe we can overcome them!”

“How gracious of you to give them your blessing,” Hubert drawls as he and Edelgard climb into the stands and take their seats.

“Agreed,” Dorothea snickers. “I’ll be sure to let them know they can win now, Ferdie.”

“Let’s focus on cheering for Wren and Petra, hm?” Edelgard gestures to the chalkboard on the opposite side of the ring. “Look, they’re putting up the bracket now.”

* * *

Wren peruses the wooden swords, grimacing as she notices the splinters and cracks up close. Petra finds a good one with ease, practicing her swings and stretching out, while Wren weighs a few different weapons in her hand.

“Nervous?” Byleth asks, picking up another sword.

“Yes, Professor,” Wren says, frown forming on her face. “I don’t want to let you or the others down.”

“It’s just a practice tournament, Wren. Don’t take it so seriously.” Byleth hands her the sword, beaming when she sees her holding it. “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t think you could.”

Wren pauses—stunned by the admission—then smiles brightly. “Of course, Professor. I’ll do my best.”

The clanging of a bell brings their attention to the tournament organizer, who calls for the participants to step forward as the bracket is drawn from a bowl of names and written down on the chalkboard for the spectators to see. Wren stands with Petra and Byleth as the organizer draws the first slip of paper, and just looking at it she knows. She feels a weight form in her chest and drop into her stomach as he opens it for all to see.

“First match, Wren Yabut.”

All eyes turn to Wren, and she freezes, unsure of how to react at first, then settles for a brilliant smile and small wave. The Black Eagles cheer loudly, as do the other Houses, until the organizer settles them down and continues down the bracket. Wren faces one of the myrmidons from the Church’s army, Felix will face Marianne, Claude will face a myrmidon as well, and Petra will face Ingrid.

A bell clangs again and a whirlwind of motion clears the ring and Byleth gives Wren a gentle push forward. She looks back, bewildered, until a sneer from across the ring brings her attention to her opponent. The Church soldier is green, definitely, but real combat experience is real combat experience, and Wren swallows as she draws her weapon and readies her stance. The organizers looks from Wren to the myrmidon and then nods.

“First Match, commence!”

He clangs the bell again and Wren waits, watching for the opponents first move. His lip curls in a cruel laugh as he draws his weapon and charges forward. Wren parries his first blow and counters with a quick blow of her own. She plays defensively, giving more and more ground to him as they move across the entire ring, nearly at the edge when he roars and charges towards her again. He slashes at her chest, but she weaves out of her way, sweeping his legs out from under him. The myrmidon’s breath explodes out of his lungs as he lands hard on his back, Wren’s sword at his throat. She presses forward, pressuring his windpipe and he cranes his neck up to look at her.

“Hey, what’s your deal—?” He stops when he sees her eye, pupil like a pinprick, void of anything other than what’s right in front of her: an enemy. “Hey, are you—?”

The bell clangs three times, and Wren blinks. She sheathes her sword and offers her hand to the myrmidon with a smile. “Good fight.”

* * *

Byleth watches Wren’s fight from the sidelines, smiling when she emerges victorious. Her eyes drift to Felix as he and Marianne take their positions for the next match, and she recalls how she vividly dreamed of this tournament.

_Felix took his position opposite Petra, one hand on the hilt of his sword at all times. Petra watched him carefully, eyes following his every step as the organizer affirmed they were ready and then clanged the bell for the match to begin. Both darted off their starting line, blades drawn with a rush of wind and met in a clash of splinters. Felix moved with fury and fire, each strike punctuated with a flick of his wrist. Petra countered with grace and power, punishing and pushing him back each time he tried to take ground against her. He grit his teeth as he saw the edge of the ring getting closer over his shoulder and stabbed forward, but Petra easily swept the blow aside, wrenching his sword out of his grip and sending it flying across the ring. It clattered against the ground and she pointed the tip of her own to his throat as he sunk to his knees. The bell clanged three times, and the Black Eagles sent up a wild cheer, pouring onto the ring to hoist Petra into the air._

Byleth pauses, rubbing her temples as she felt that familiar ache in the back of her head starting up again.

 _“So, that is how you remember it, huh?”_ The voice whispers by her ear. _“This will make for an excellent test, then!”_

Byleth looks up at Wren, watching Petra and Ingrid’s match with rapt attention by the Black Eagles’ stands. She stands up and cheers when Petra gets a good hit in, talking excitedly with the other students.

_“How will she change it? Will she? And what could it mean for her purpose here?”_

“We don’t know that she will change anything,” Byleth whispers, looking around to make sure nobody is nearby. “The incident with Hubert could have been a coincidence.”

A cheer goes up through the crowd that drowns out the bell as Petra stands victorious over Ingrid. The two shake hands and clear the ring as preparations for the second round begin. Felix steps into the ring, scraping his foot against the stone.

“You will do well, Wren.” Petra nods. “He is skilled, but easily manipulated.”

“Right, thanks, Petra.”

Wren steps into the ring opposite him. He smiles, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve wanted to fight you, to see how they fight where you’re from.”

“I think you’ll be disappointed to find Sarepidan techniques don't come across well with swords.”

“Then I’ll have to trust that you’ll make it fun for me, right?”

The bell clangs and Felix dashes forward. Wren barely has time to draw her sword and block the blow, let alone the follow up. She stumbles backwards, blocking his attacks as they come and looking for a chance to counter. Sweat begins to form on her brow as she stumbles, just barely blocking his next attacks as he tries to regain her footing as the cheers of the crowd ring loudly in her ears, making it difficult to concentrate. Felix’s assault only grows more ferocious as Wren gives him more and more ground, her window to strike back growing smaller and smaller until—

Felix winds back to strike and light sparks in front of him, lines forming the Crest of Frauldarius. Wren’s eye narrows.

“So this is the power of the Crests.”

“That’s right, you’ve probably never seen one—,” Felix gasps, limbs twitching as his movements slow. He feels ice pour into his veins as muscles freeze in place, joints locking painfully as the Crest of Frauldarius shatters before him. “What’s . . . happening to me?”

Wren sees her opportunity and takes it, swinging her sword and knocking Felix’s out of his hand. He collapses to the ground, looking up at her as the bell clangs three times, the crowd cheering loudly. Byleth stares at Felix defeated on the ground.

 _“Does that look like a coincidence to you?”_ The voice asks, and Byleth just shakes her head numbly.

“What the hell was that?”

“I-I don’t know.” Wren shakes her head as she helps Felix to his feet. “Felix, I—,”

“Don’t apologize. You won. No changing it now.” He looks her over and then gives her a small smile. “Just promise me a rematch sometime. You’re not bad, though your technique could use a little polish.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Wren steps out of the ring, wishing Petra luck before taking a seat amongst her classmates.

“That was impressive.”

Wren looks to Edelgard and grins. “Not really. I just got lucky he hesitated.”

“Regardless, Felix is renowned for his prowess with a sword. Overcoming him is no small feat.” Edelgard looks her over carefully. “Neither is making it to the finals. Congratulations.”

“Oh, um, thank you, Edelgard.”

“An admirable display, Wren,” Hubert adds. “For a novice.”

“. . . thank you?”

“It’s the most you’ll get out of Hubie. From what I’ve found, at least.” Dorothea settles beside Wren. “Are you excited about the final match?”

“Well, I want to see who I’m up against before I say anything about that.” The bell clangs three times. “Oh, so quickly?”

Petra stands triumphantly over Claude, his sword in the dirt outside of the ring. He looks up with half a smile as she tugs him to his feet and shakes her hand, retreating to the stands with both hands in the air, where the Golden Deer receive him with a loud cheer. Not to be outdone, the Black Eagles cheer even louder for Petra practically bounces over to them.

“Wren! We will be facing each other! And I will not be going easy on you!”

“I wouldn’t want you to. May the best swordswoman win.”

They shake hands as they enter the ring side-by-side. Byleth watches from her seat, hands twisting in her lap, eyes never leaving Wren as she draws her sword and assumes an offensive stance. Petra mirrors, the tips of their weapons just brushing. A hush falls over the training grounds as they wait, staring each other down until—

_CLANG!_

Wren steps forward and strikes, but Petra reacts quicker. She knocks Wren’s sword aside and lands a hard jab to her exposed side, sending her stumbling to the side. Wren gets her feet back underneath her just as Petra’s upon her, raining strikes down and forcing her to give up more and more ground. Wren steps back and feels the edge of the ring at her heel, knows that she’s running out of time to strike, and takes the first opportunity she sees. She channels everything she has into her next counter, feeling a familiar tingle in her arm. She panics, tries to pull back, but it’s too late. The wooden sword crackles before it explodes, raining smoking splinters on the two fighters and spectators. The entire crowd is silent as Wren pulls back her hilt, what remains of the sword charred and burning, and frowns.

“Oh, no, oof!”

Petra wrenches the remnants of her weapon out of her hands and throws her to the ground. Her own weapon is scorched from the explosion, but its point is intact enough to press against Wren’s throat, pinning her to the stone of the training ring. The bell clangs three times and the crowd bursts into cheers. The Black Eagles clamber down from the makeshift stands and into the ring, Petra pulling Wren to her feet as they’re swarmed by their classmates. They give their passing congratulations on second place to Wren as they congregate around Petra, cheering for her victory, lifting her into the air above their heads in celebration. Wren watches for a moment and then turns to look at the pieces of her sword on the ground.

“It looked like magic.”

Wren looks up to see Byleth standing over her. “You think so? I just reacted in the heat of the moment. It all happened so suddenly that I—,”

Byleth nods. She remembers watching the bright light spider webbing through the sword like cracks on the frozen surface of a lake just moments from breaking, and the briefest spark of electricity that danced between the shards of wood just moments after the sword had exploded. “If you practiced, it could be a useful technique.”

Wren pauses, not looking up when she speaks. “I’ll think on it, Professor. It seems dangerous.”

“Then think. I’ll be waiting for your answer.” Byleth nods towards the cheering students, now joined by the Blue Lions and Golden Deer as Petra is presented with her prize. “You should join your classmates. You did well.”

Wren stands and turns, never looking at Byleth. “Thank you, Professor. I think I will.”

She joins the crowd, welcomed loudly by Caspar and Claude as they discuss arranging a feast to celebrate the first tournament of the school year. Byleth’s eyes linger, and while Wren smiles and laughs with her classmates, she just can’t quite shake the sinking feeling in her gut that something was wrong with her, even when she turns and walks away.


	5. The Red on the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, warnings for this one: spoilers for WC and the Red Canyon mission, as well as mentions of blood and depictions of violence.
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this one! I recently had an article published in a scientific journal (in print!! with my name on the byline!!! for real!!!!) so I've had to be in and out with our collaborators who wanted to celebrate except we can't really celebrate because of social distancing so it's been a lot of planning and champagne and sitting at my computer on Zoom and not working on this -_-' But from here on out is when it really starts to ramp up, so I'm excited to start sharing that with you, so please enjoy!

_Rain comes down hard against the canyon walls and floor, making each step in the already deep mud an ordeal, but she keeps running. Battle cries and the clatter of steel echo off the walls around her, a neverending cacophony of noise that rings in her ears and shakes her very bones as she focuses everything she has on not falling down. The ruins seem to stretch on forever, and just when she sees the end, they begin to elongate, pushing her further and further from her goal, but what is she running to? What awaits her at the end?_

_If she could just . . . reach the end . . . just take one more step . . ._

Byleth jolts awake in her bed, sweat pouring from her forehead as she sucks in breath after ragged breath, blinking as her eyes adjust to the dim light of very, _very_ early morning. She sighs and rubs her forehead, hoping to quell the throbbing in the back of her head that tells her the answer to what lies at the end of the ruins is somewhere in the dark corners of her memories. But how could she reach it? And why does she have these memories in the first place?

A knock on the door shakes her from her thoughts and brings her out of her bed. Alois stands outside her door, already dressed and armored despite the early hour, and she already suspects what he’s there for before he says it.

“It’s time, Professor. Gather your students at the front gate, and we’ll head out for the Red Canyon at once.”

Byleth sends him off with a nod and then closes her door to get dressed. By the time she’s gathered the students from their dorm rooms (with the exception of Linhardt, who had fallen asleep in the library, though they’d loathe to admit it), sunlight begins to spill over the walls and the merchants start opening their stalls for the day. Anna, the general merchant that Byleth purchases most of the class’s supplies from, watches them prepare to leave with a smile and a small wave, eyes coming to rest on Wren for a moment longer than the others. It doesn’t go unnoticed, Wren’s eye narrowing.

“What?”

“Oh? Nothing!” Anna rubs her chin. “Have we met before?”

“I’m part of the class, so . . .” Wren sighs, early morning irritability starting to get to her. “You’ve probably seen me here with the Professor.” She turns at the sound of Alois and Byleth calling out. “Okay, well, we’re leaving. See you around.”

Anna waves again and they’re gone. Byleth falls into step beside Wren, looking over her shoulder as the gates close behind them.

“How are you feeling?”

Wren purses her lips, muscle in her jaw flexing as she sorts through her thoughts. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel . . . Well, I’m actually having a hard time describing how I’m feeling, to be honest, Professor.”

“Why don’t you try?”

“You’re an excellent teacher. Anybody can see that, what with how everyone else seems to excel in what you’ve assigned them, or what they’ve requested to study.” Wren crosses her arms, drumming her fingers against her forearm. “But I can’t help but feel as if I’m . . . lagging behind, I suppose would be the best way to put it. I did well in the sword tournament, yes, but some of the other students are near the level of placement exams and I’m nowhere near that level.”

Byleth takes her words in, breathing out slowly. “Everyone learns at their own pace. Maybe I am a good teacher, but not every method matches every learner. Perhaps you would benefit from transferring to another House.”

Wren barks out a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Never. I respect Professor Hannemana and Professor Manuela, but I’ve seen some of their lessons. I wouldn’t . . . flourish in an environment like that.”

“Good,” Edelgard steps back beside Byleth to join their conversation. “I was worried we’d be losing one of our number so early in the year.”

Wren raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Why? Have to kill me before you let me leave? Do I know too many Black Eagle trade secrets?”

“Hardly,” Edelgard replies dryly, rolling her eyes. “I merely would hate to see someone as talented as yourself leave our class. You say you’re lagging, but I wouldn’t agree with that assessment.”

“I agree, Wren. I know you’re worried about your sword skills, but your magic is very adept for someone your age.” Byleth pats her shoulder. “Give yourself some credit.”

Wren shrugs her shoulder, suddenly stiff. “You misunderstand what I’m trying to say. I was worried of that. Let me try again.” She taps her chin. “I feel that I’m farther behind the other students in terms of progress because of how easily they seem to be able to advance through their lesson plans. The teaching environment you create is difficult for me, Professor, but regardless of either of these things, I wouldn’t want to be in any other because the challenge is what pushes me to succeed and become better.” She looks at Edelgard and Byleth. “Does that make sense?”

They both stare, but Edelgard is the first to speak, laughing under her breath. “I’d expect nothing less from you, to be honest.”

“Of course you would. It’s something you two have in common.”

“Professor—!”

“My teacher—!”

“Regardless, I’m glad you like my teaching style, Wren, but if you need an adjustment, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I . . . yes, Professor.” Wren shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair.

The rest of the trip is spent mostly in silence, occasional conversation about the scenery and their classmates coming and going as the Knights slowed and began their approach on the canyon’s opening. Light grey stone rises hundreds of feet in the air around them as the wind whips past them as they cross over into the mouth of the canyon. The remains of stone structures litter their path on either side, and when Wren steps closer to examine them, one of the Knights approaches Byleth.

“The bandits and their leader are holed up in some ruins just ahead, Professor. The rest is up to you.” He nods and then moves around them towards the canyon entrance.

Byleth turns to the class and clears her throat. “Alright, remember, this is real combat. Do as I say, and everything will be fine. Let’s go. Take up offensive positions. Edelgard, Caspar, and Petra take point. Bernadetta, Ferdinand, Wren, and I will take the flanks. The rest of you bring up the rear. They’re likely on edge because of the Knights, so be prepared.”

They barely advance up the stairs before the bandits attack, arrows narrowly whizzing by Byleth’s cheek. Ahead of her, Edelgard easily cuts down an attacker with a flourish of her axe, and Hubert peppers others with spells to keep them off her back. Caspar launches himself at the nearest bandit with a loud battlecry and drives his gauntlets deep into the man’s chest. Blood seeps through the bandit’s thin tunic as he stumbles backwards, hands slipping over his wounds and nonsense bubbling past his lips, until he collapses onto the ground, motionless, and Linhardt represses a shudder as they follow the carnage from a few good paces behind.

Petra easily cuts through a bandit, and he hasn’t even hit the ground before she’s moved on to the next. One bandit charges her from behind, nearly upon her when he’s tackled from the side. They struggle in the mud until Wren comes out on top, knees digging into the man’s chest, and one hand wrapped around his throat. He growls the beginning of a threat, but it dies on his lips as a fireball rips through his vocal chords. Ferdinand pushes back an attacker with the point of his lance, but slips on a wet stone hidden beneath the dirt. He struggles to right himself with his weapon pointed between himself and his opponent, when an arrow lodges itself right in the man’s eye and he falls dead right in front of him. Bernadetta hurries up to Ferdinand, helping him to his feet.

“A-are you alright? I saw you slip and I—,”

“I’m am unharmed, all thanks to you.” Ferdinand looks down at the bandit, nudging him over with his foot and a grimace. “That was an excellent shot, Bernadetta. I will have to pay you back somehow—,”

Lightning screams through the air behind them, and a bandit bounces off the ground before slamming into the stone walls a few feet away. She groans and crumbles into a heap in the dirt as Dorothea approaches them, shaking out her hand.

“Pay attention, Ferdie, and stop distracting Bernie.”

“But I was simply—!”

“No buts!”

Byleth scouts the now secured area for more bandits and then returns to the students. Some stand, some sit. Some try to wipe the blood off their hands or uniforms, others leave it be. No one looks at each other. Byleth gathers them together.

“Okay, from here the path splits into two, then rejoins around the ruins our target has taken shelter in. If we take advantage, we may be able to catch them by surprise.” Byleth looks around. “Any volunteers for the second team?”

A beat of silence, then Ferdinand steps forward. “I would gladly lead the second team, Professor. I dare say, we may even out perform the first team.”

Wren chuckles when she sees Dorothea roll her eyes from beside her. “I’ll go with him, Professor.”

“I would be going with them as well,” Petra says, grip on her sword tightening. “We will be clearing a path together.”

Dorothea raises her hand. “I suppose I’ll go as well. You can count on us, Professor.”

“M-me, too.” Bernadetta nods. “I’ll go with them, too.”

“Excellent,” Byleth leads them to the forked paths. “We’ll take the path to the right, and you take the path to the left. Your path is longer, so we’ll wait for you for the signal to move in on the bandit leader.”

“I’ll send up a flare when we’re in position, Professor.” Light sparks in Wren’s open hand. “Good luck. We’ll see you all on the other side.”

“Watch each other’s backs, and be careful.” Byleth turns to her squad and waves her hand. “Move out.”

She’s barely taken a step when a voice pops into her ear.

“ _You aren’t really letting them go by themselves, are you_?”

Byleth stutters her next few steps, but continues forward with nothing more than a raised eyebrow from Hubert and a concerned glance from Caspar, but thankfully neither of them says anything. She sweeps her eyes over her shoulder, seeing nothing, when the voice comes to her again.

“ _You should know by now that you will not see me unless I wish it._ ” A huff of breath follows. “ _Now, back to the situation at hand, are you truly going to let those little ones go off on their own_?”

“They’re hardly defenseless. This is what they’ve trained for,” Byleth mutters, stepping to the side to put some distance between herself and the others. “And they’re well stocked with supplies besides. They’re more than equipped to handle a couple bandits.”

“ _Are you positive_?”

Byleth opens her mouth to respond, then snaps it shut. She’s confident in her students, sure, but nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is assured. She knows this, seen it in action more times than she’s cared to during her time in her father’s company. The voice in her head giggles, and she feels the faintest sensation of something brushing against her shoulder.

“ _You’re so serious when you think! It would be terrible to see something befall the little ones, so I shall allow you to use some of my power._ ”

Byleth’s eyes widen. “You mean . . . ?”

“ _Yes, I will allow you to rewind time. If something should happen to one of your students, simply use my Divine Pulse to turn back the hands of time, and change their fate._ ” The echo of a finger tapping against stone causes Byleth to wince. “ _But know this power is not unlimited. Use it wisely._ ”

“I will. I promise. Thank you.” Byleth picks at her gloves, choosing her next words carefully. “Why . . . are you letting me use your power?”

“ _Why_ ?” The voice repeat, humming loud enough to make Byleth’s teeth rattle. “ _I suppose I like you enough, and we are connected, you and I. I am trapped inside your head, for once reason or another. Remember: whatever happens to you, happens to me. Your sadness, your joy, I feel them all._ ” They walk in silence until she speaks again. “ _It’s okay to be nervous._ ”

Byleth frowns, face hardening, and says with finality. “They will be okay, or they won’t be. No amount of magic is going to save them if they weren’t adequately prepared.”

They descend a dilapidated staircase and more bandits charge them. Edelgard, Caspar, and Byleth move forward to meet them, while Hubert and Linhardt stay back on the staircase to maintain the height advantage while raining spells upon them. Edelgard slams her axe into the wooden shield of an oncoming bandit, cleaving it in two and slamming the bandit flat on his back on the ground, where he lays motionless. Caspar takes one out with a hard cross to the jaw, then follows it up with a roundhouse kick that sends another bandit flying into a pile of rubble. He cheers loudly, specks of blood coloring his shirt, until Linhardt reminds him to be quiet while healing a cut on his shoulder.

Byleth darts forward, sword swinging in deadly, practiced arcs through the bandits. Their attacks pass harmless by her—as if they weren’t even there—and she cuts down the last one without hesitation as they come to the opening of their passage. Edelgard steps over the bandits to stand beside Byleth, Hubert a step behind her.

“So now we wait for the signal?”

Byleth sheathes her sword, squatting down at the edge of the entrance when she feels a drop of rain hit her head. She looks up, dark clouds rolling overhead, and then returns her gaze to the ruins just ahead. “Now we wait.”

* * *

“The ground will be getting slippery.” Petra tilts her head back, rain now falling steadily. “You should be sure to be keeping your footing.”

“Is that directed at me?” Wren laughs.

“Perhaps.”

“The idea for this mission was to use my sword as little as possible, so hopefully that won’t be necessary.”

“Petra is right. We’ll need to be extra careful if we encounter any bandits from here on out.” Ferdinand grips his lance a little higher. “Be on your guard.”

He and Petra lead Bernadetta down a ruined staircase, and Wren brings up the rear alongside Dorothea. She clasps her hands behind her back, green eyes sweeping over the collapsing doorways and darkened archways of the walls around them.

“What do you think this place was?”

Wren hums, adjusting her gloves. “Not sure. But I can tell you one thing: I was expecting it to be a little more colorful.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? It’s all about the journey, not the destination.”

“The journey includes an eradication order.” Wren frowns. “It can’t be that great.”

Dorothea opens her mouth, hesitating just for a moment before continuing. “Yes, you seem very . . . comfortable with this.”

“Killing?”

“I, well . . . yeah.” Dorothea shudders, looking over her shoulder. “Back there, you just . . . without even thinking . . .”

“That’s the thing, though, I did think. I thought: if I don’t do something about that bandit, he’s going to hurt Petra. Or he could have hurt Petra. Maybe she knew he was coming.” Wren shrugs, thumb rubbing the space between her middle and ring finger. “But this is battle. Life and death. You can’t take chances in that kind of situation.”

“But, still, you didn’t have a problem killing him.”

“Well, no. He wouldn’t have had a problem killing me given the chance, after all. It’s how my siblings and I were trained. My father wanted us to be ruthless, to be strong.” Wren thinks quietly to herself for a moment, then looks at Dorothea. “Are you uncomfortable with killing, Dorothea?”

“I . . . well, it’s not so much . . . I know we have to, and I’ll do it, but it doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Yes, of course. Rather stain your hands with another type of red, then?”

“Why, you—!” Dorothea tries to grab her by the ear, but stops when she can’t find it underneath the eyepatch. Wren grabs her wrist and laughs.

“I’m sorry, Dorothea. This type of stuff, it’s not for everyone. And even the people who can stomach it . . . it ruins you. One way or the other.” Wren pats the back of her hand and releases her. “Don’t be ashamed that this type of thing—that killing—disgusts you. I think it means you’re a good person. If anything, you should be wary of the day it doesn’t disgust you anymore.”

“Wren—,”

“So stick with me, and I’ll take care of all the killing for you. Besides, I can’t have anything happening to you before I get that tea you owe me.”

Dorothea shoves her shoulder. “As if! Someone has to show you nobles how actual work gets done.”

“By all means.”

As they turn the corner, a group of bandits leap from the shadows. Ferdinand and Petra rush to meet them, sword and lance clashing against axes and shields. Bernadetta scrambles back, arrows flying into the fray as Petra cuts down one bandit and then blocks another from cutting open Ferdinand’s back. Lightning flashes and momentarily blinds the unsuspecting foes as it ignites their nerves and locks their muscles in place. Wren shakes her hand out with a satisfied smile and watches as the vulnerable targets are knocked to the ground by a few well-placed fireballs from Dorothea. Ferdinand slams his lance into the chest of a bandit to knock the wind out of him, then drives the point into his gut until he lays motionless on the ground.

“I think . . . that’s all of them.” Bernadetta approaches the battlefield cautiously, arrow resting on the string just in case. “Look, up ahead!”

The road opens up to the main ruins, where Byleth had told them the bandit leader made his camp. Ferdinand crouches down low, swiping his hair out of his eyes to try and get a better look, then turns to Wren.

“Are you ready with the signal?”

Wren summons the flare between her hands, bright red light flickering and sparking wildly. “Whenever you are. Or think they are.”

“I can’t tell if they’re over there yet. It’s gotten dark, and this Goddess forsaken rain isn’t helping matters.”

“I am sure they had been waiting for us to get here.” Petra looks to Wren and Ferdinand. “We should be sending the signal.”

“I agree.” Wren says. “Even if they’re not there yet, they’ll be there soon. They can help us if the bandits come after us.”

“We don’t know how many bandits are in there. Sending the signal will give away our position to them; we could be swarmed!”

“We have to be trusting that the Professor and Edelgard will be there. If you cannot be trusting your fellow soldiers, then you have nothing, Ferdinand.”

“I—,” Ferdinand looks back to the ruins, blinking rain water out of his eyes. “Yes, you’re right, Petra. We have to trust our peers to do their jobs. Wren, send the signal.”

Wren throws the flare high in the air, the spell carrying it high over the ruins where it explodes in a shower of bright red sparks that throws crimson light over the bandits’ hiding spot and the surrounding walls. In the stark light, dark shadows begin to pour out of the ruins as the bandit leader barks orders with his axe waving wildly over his shoulder. His head swivels about as his eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness, then points his finger directly at Ferdinand and Petra.

“There, there they are! Well don’t just stand about gawking, get them! You aren’t getting paid to let them get away!”

One of the bandits mumbles about not getting paid at all before charging them. Ferdinand and Petra meet them head on, their attack bolstered by fireballs and arrows buffeting their foes alongside the dark raindrops. Blue streaks of lightning leap from Wren’s fingertips and mix with the red glow of the flare still burning bright in the sky, and pushes two more bandits back, nearly losing their in the mud. One moves to dart forward, sword raised over his head, when a sword cuts deep into the side of his exposed chest and then rips free, spraying blood over the face of his stunned companion. Byleth swings her sword on him next, taking his head from his neck in a single swing. Wren waves in appreciation, then points behind her.

“Professor, the leader!”

Byleth whirls around and sees a familiar face thundering towards her with an axe held high, but she easily deflects his blow and raises her sword to his chest.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Kostas growls. “First that damned traitor leaves us here, and now you’re here . . . what the hell is going on!?”

“ _That man . . . he is the one who tried to kill Edelgard and the others before, isn’t he_ ?” Sothis says. “ _What_ is _going on here . . . ?_ ”

“Well!? Are you just gonna stare at me or are you gonna—urk!”

His axe falls from his grips as he lurches forward, one hand on his chest as the other reaches over his shoulder, fingers scraping against skin as if trying to reach for something just out of sight. He takes a shambling step forward and then turns, an axe sticking out from between his shoulder blades, before he falls to the ground. Edelgard stands on the other side, hand outstretched, watching his body for any signs of movement before she raises her eyes to meet Byleth’s. The remaining bandits notice that their leader has fallen and begin to flee, and the students look to Byleth, who waves for them to be left alone.

“Looks like we’re even now, Professor.” Edelgard steps her way over to Byleth, who examines Kostas’ body. “It seems we may have a penchant for saving each other from bandits. Let’s hope it translates well to other, more precarious situations as well.”

Byleth stands, wrenching Edelgard’s axe out of Kostas’ back and handing it to her. She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “Edelgard . . . does he look . . . familiar to you?”

“The bandit leader?” Edelgard’s eyes flicker over him. “Now that you mention it, I think I remember his face from the attack a couple months ago when you saved Claude, Dimitri, and me. But he doesn’t particularly stick out, no. Why do you ask?”

Byleth’s lips twist in a subtle frown before returning to her normal, neutral expression. “I thought I’d seen him somewhere before. I was trying to remember where. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, Professor—,” Edelgard trails off, eyes tracking something over her shoulder. “What is she doing?”

The light of Wren’s flare has begun to die, but even it’s faint glow is enough to reveal the uniform and dark brown hair of its owner clambering inside the ruins of the bandits’ hideout. Edelgard’s eyes narrow and Byleth sighs as they follow after her, climbing as quietly as possible past a darkened archway and into the pitch blackness. The ruins provided a surprising amount of cover from the rain, the quiet patter of water into puddles on the ground the only sound they could follow as they searched for Wren. Edelgard found her first, bent over a portion of the ruins and muttering to herself.

“Fascinating.” Wren runs a hand over the wet stone, then again in the opposite direction. “Perhaps . . . No, I’ll have to write this down . . . .”

“Wren?” Byleth calls out to her. “What are you doing?”

Wren jumps and spins around with an innocent smile. “What are you two doing?”

“Looking for you.” Edelgard tries to look around her. “Find anything interesting?”

“Sorry to sneak away like that, but I just wanted a chance to really look at the ruins before we left. This place is sacred to the Church, I guess, so they never let people in here.” Wren motions to the deteriorating structure around them. “Look at this place. All of the canyon, actually. These structures look like they were made by hand, like someone lived in them.”

“ _Oho, she’s very observant that one. She and I had the same thought._ ” Sothis laughs. “ _She’s right. People did live here. Down by the entrance, all along these walls, even in . . . this very spot . . . people lived here._ ”

Byleth raises an eyebrow.

“ _I . . . I lived here. I_ —,”

“Professor?”

Byleth blinks, then looks at Wren and Edelgard, both watching her expectantly. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

“I asked if you knew why it was called the ‘Red Canyon.’ A lot less red than I expected.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sorry.”

“Another of life’s little mysteries, hm? I thought maybe a collection of particular sediments—ah, but it hardly matters now.” Wren taps her chin.

“We should get going now.” Byleth jerks her head back the direction she and Edelgard came. “The journey back to the Monastery will be dangerous at this time of night, even if it’s short.”

“Of course, Professor.”

They pick their way through the dark ruins and rejoin the class, Byleth leading them out of the canyon. The rain lets up and then clears completely, the moon and stars twinkling above their heads a slight consolation from the sharp winds that tear right through their soaked clothes and cloaks. Edelgard and Wren walk side-by-side at the rear of the group, eyes sweeping the sides of the canyon for any stragglers (very unlikely) or monsters (much more likely).

“I saw you throw your axe at the bandit leader when he was attacking the Professor. Very impressive,” Wren says, idly tapping the hilt of her sword. “I knew you could wield the axe, but I’ve never seen you throw it before. Quite the hidden talent.”

“It’s good to keep your opponents on their toes.” Edelgard smiles. “But I’m glad you were impressed. It’s a difficult technique, to be sure, but its applications and versatility in battle can’t be understated.”

“Yeah, I’m sure—did you just refer to me as an opponent?”

“Yes? You are.” Edelgard’s gaze cuts through the dim light of the moon with a razor’s edge. “You’re my classmate, yes, but if I just think of you as an ally, what would the point of that be? You have talent, you have skill, and you have drive. We all have something to offer each other in this class, something to be gained by battling against each other as rivals. It’s just another way we can help each other improve.”

“I . . . see. That’s one way of thinking of it, I suppose.”

“Not one that many share.”

“You don’t say.” Wren shakes her head. “Well, I’m honored someone like yourself would think of me as a rival. I’ll try to live up to the idea.”

“Why think you have to? You're excellent with magic. One well-placed spell, and you could easily defeat me.”

“Too bad a battle isn’t as easily won as one well-placed spell. It’s everything else leading up to it as well: the attacks that weaken your opponent, whether they realize it or not, the movements that place them in the perfect spot, finally taking aim and willing yourself not to miss.”

“Another strategizer? Perhaps I’ll have to invite you to Claude and I’s chess games.”

“I’m afraid that’s about as far as my strategizing goes. You should see my grades in battle tactics. Embarrassing.” Wren sighs and looks around the canyon walls, receding as they reach exit. “It’s a shame they don’t let more people visit. It really is a nice place. Peaceful. You know, when it’s not crawling with bandits or monsters.”

“You know, the Church is the one who gave it the name the Red Canyon,” Edelgard says simply, hands clasped behind her back. “Perhaps your answer as to why it’s called that is somewhere in the Monastery.”

“I doubt that. They would never keep records of something that interesting somewhere accessible. Or well known for that matter. Hm.” Wren rubs her chin. “Quite the mystery indeed.”

“So you think the Monastery is keeping secrets?”

“Everyone has secrets, Edelgard. You, me, Hubert—who I know is listening to this conversation—we all have secrets.” Wren shrugs. “Some are small, inconsequential, and some are life-shattering. But we carry them all with us, every day. If the Monastery and the Church are keeping secrets somewhere, I’ll no doubt stumble upon them eventually.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Wren smiles slyly. “I’ve a habit of getting into places I don’t belong.”

Edelgard smiles back. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

* * *

Two mages hurry up the stairs, illuminated only by the moonlight through the towering windows at the top, whispering harshly as they walk down the hall and stop just outside the only door with a soft, orange glow coming from underneath. They stand outside for a moment, shoving the sealed parchment back and forth between themselves before a voice drawls from the other side:

“Hurry up and come in already.”

The mage holding the parchment looks down at his hands, then the other mage, and a shudder travels the length of his body. The other mage places a hand on her shoulder and then runs silently back down the hall as she pushes the door open and enters the small study. Arundel sits on a plush chair, looking over a few missives in his lap in front of a roaring fire, the only source of light in the entire room. The mage stands against the wall, her back pressed against the wood as if forced there by his very presence, until he motions for her.

“What is it?”

“It’s a message, sir.” She opens the parchment and scans it over quickly. “The bandit has been taken care of by the students at Garreg Mach. All loose ends in that respect have been tied up.” She refolds the parchment and bows. “Will there be anything else.”

Arundel hums, setting the missives aside, and looks into the fire, rubbing his hands together as a smile comes over his face.

“I’d like to send a message to our friend at Garreg Mach, actually.”

“Yes, of course, Lord Arundel.” The mage bows and turns to the door. “How long of a message will it be? For the parchment?”

He laughs darkly. “Just a word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the delay again! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, a small note: if you go back and read the previous chapters, you will probably notice that Wren's last name has been changed from Dayain to Yabut. This will continue going forward in future chapters. Here's the deal: I'm shit with names and thought it would be a nice homage to use the last name of one of the people who helped me pick Wren's final hair design (and trust me, Wren went through A LOT of hair designs) as Wren's last name. They were cool with it. Cool. I sent them the link to the fic so they could see it, and the idea of their last name being used in a fic and people seeing it started to give them anxiety, so they asked me to change it. Nbd, so I changed it to someone else who helped me pick Wren's final design who was cool with it.
> 
> Speaking of Wren's design, if you would ever like to see her, I sometimes post art of her on my Twitter at: https://twitter.com/SonoDaten and on Tumblr at sonodaten.tumblr.com, so if you're ever curious what Wren looks like, feel free to pop over and take a look.


	6. Afterthought

_ She’s back in the Red Canyon but . . . for some reason, the name seems foreign to her, both a distant memory and a far-flung dream of the future. The ruins have been restored to their former glory, gleaming white stone domiciles line the walls and burrow far into the ground, where they gather, where they live. _

_ Where they are safe. _

_ She shifts at the sound of voices to the right, but finds herself sapped of strength. She can barely lift her head when two figures enter her peripheral vision. They speak in hushed whispers, too quiet for her to make out their words until they drift closer to her. _

_ “. . . we will need to do something in the coming weeks . . .” _

_ “. . . I don’t know how much longer I will be with you . . .” _

_ She strains to hear the rest of their conversation, but it dies when they round a corner and disappear. She looks back down at the Red Canyon, bustling with life. Men, women, and children with hair varying shades of green go about their lives with smiles, occasionally looking up at her smiling. But who is she? And why do they smile at her? _

“Why indeed? Perhaps a visit to these ruins is in order?”

Byleth jolts, falling right out of bed at the sound of another voice right next to her. Not the whisper she’d grown accustomed to over the past couple weeks. A full-on voice. She scrambles onto her hands and knees on the floor and peeks over the edge of her bed, seeing the young girl with deep green hair and the same, disapproving stare she’d worn before floating above her bed with her arms crossed.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re surprised to see me again so soon.”

“I’m surprised to see you again  _ at all _ .”

“Well, that’s a pretty rude thing to say to the one that saved your life, and gave you the power to control the hands of time.” The girl pouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Byleth. “Do you even remember my name?”

“Sothis.” Byleth rolls her eyes. “Or would you prefer I call you ‘The Beginning?’”

“Sothis is more than adequate.” She settles on Byleth’s bed, legs crossed and grinning eagerly. “Now, sit. We have much to discuss before your next mission.”

“The mission isn’t until the end of the month. There’s plenty of time to discuss, and I have a lot to do today.”

“Then it’s a great boon to us you woke up early, is it not?”

Byleth remains on the floor, waving her hand for Sothis to begin.

“Excellent! Now that you can see me—,”

“Wait, can other people see you?!” Byleth jumps up and closes the blinds on her window. “Have they been able to hear you this whole time?”

“I should think not! If they had, I would not have spoken to you at all! Now be quiet!” Sothis frowns. “Now, it is obvious that you, and only you, can see me for a reason. We are connected, and I believe these memories you hold are a key to figuring out why.”

“But I can’t control them. They come at random, and I can never make sense of them until they’re happening.” Byleth shakes her head and collapses on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. “And even if we could know what was going to happen, there’s Wren.”

“Yes, your mysterious transfer student. Hmm, it is a most . . . perplexing puzzle . . .” Sothis interrupts herself with a yawn. “All the more reason to return to the Red Canyon by yourself. You should have no trouble getting in as a Professor, should you not?”

“I can’t go. Edelgard and I are to receive this month’s mission today, and I have lessons to teach!”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have . . .” Byleth rifles through the papers on her desk to find her calendar. “. . . Riding.”

“My, how busy you are.”

“Well, I can’t just go!”

“If you . . . insist.” Sothis yawns again. “You should . . . mhm, should start with . . . the Monastery . . . at the very least.”

“The Monastery? Why here?” Byleth gets up on her knees. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me again. Why?”

“Knows something . . . Don’t trust . . . that woman . . .” Sothis snuggles into Byleth’s blanket with a content sigh, disappearing moments later.

“That woman?” Byleth repeats. “Rhea? Don’t trust Rhea?”

Byleth groans and begins preparing for the day. She knows, after all, that knowing is half the battle, and if Sothis thought exploring the Monastery would help her uncover something about these memories . . .

Well, it was further along than she was before.

Byleth waits in the reception hall, deciding to begin her investigation after receiving her monthly mission, and watches the early morning routines of the students and staff. Very few of them are awake this early, carrying loads of books to get some extra studying or work done or dressed in their athletic uniforms to get in some early morning training or conditioning. Hanneman speaks animatedly to Manuela, who nods and rubs her eyes tiredly, about his latest research into Crest Theory as they walk down the center aisle in search of breakfast, giving Byleth a wave as they pass by. The scattered conversation has just risen to a low din when Edelgard enters and they head upstairs to the Audience Chamber.

Rhea beckons them both with open arms and a small smile inside, where Seteth sits waiting. “I must congratulate on a job well done. Your efficiency in dispatching the bandits was the talk amongst the Knights.”

“Thank you, Lady Rhea. It was nothing.”

“No, really, I cannot thank you enough. The Red Canyon’s importance to our Church’s history is . . . seldom spoken, but it is great. Knowing it has been protected so thoroughly—by our own students, nonetheless—it is comforting.”

“Of course.” Edelgard shifts her weight across her feet, arms crossing over her chest. Byleth notices the motion out of the corner of her eye. “I believe we’re also here for this month’s mission?”

Rhea looks at Edelgard for a long moment, then nods. “Yes, yes. This month I’m afraid we have yet another difficult task for you and your class, Professor.” She turns to Byleth, expression serene. “We’ve found evidence of a rebellion instigated by a Faerghus noble, Lord Lonato.”

“Knights have already been dispatched to Castle Gaspard.” Seteth sets down his tea. “You will be travelling with the rear guard to clean up any lingering fighting that may be going on.”

Byleth looks from his to Rhea. “But why—,”

The sound of the doors opening cut her off, and a tall blonde woman with piercing blue eyes marches inside, colored lights of the stained glass glinting off her white armor. Her gaze immediately zeroes in on Rhea. “You asked for me? I came as quickly as I could.”

“Yes, thank you. This is Catherine, and she will be leading the contingent of Knights you will be traveling with.”

Byleth and Edelgard exchange nods with Catherine, whose eyes linger on Byleth before smiling.

“So you’re the one they’re all talking about? Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

Byleth nods, then turns back to Rhea and Seteth. “As I was saying, why would Lord Lonato rebel against the Church?”

The room goes still, and even Edelgard has a hard time maintaining her composure. Behind them, Catherine sighs and rubs her brow. Rhea and Seteth remain neutral, and finally, Rhea speaks.

“Lord Lonato has been . . . dissatisfied with the Church for some time now, vocally so. But for him—for anyone—to take up arms against the Church it is . . . an unimaginable time we live in, Professor. Let us hope this mission can serve as a lesson to the students what the consequences for these kinds of actions can be.”

Edelgard’s eyes narrow for a split second before her expression returns to normal and Rhea dismisses them. Catherine disappears down the stairs without looking at them, nervous energy radiating off her stiff shoulders and back as she hurries away. Byleth and Edelgard wait outside the closed doors—Byleth nervously wringing her hands and Edelgard calmly tapping her fingers against her arm—until finally Edelgard sighs.

“Would you be interested in hearing what happened to Lord Lonato?” Edelgard turns to her. “I’m not privy to all the specifics, but I have a general idea of what happened.”

“Ah, um, perhaps another time?” Byleth’s eyes move to the hall. “I’ve got some business to take care of for my father.”

Edelgard’s eyes light up. A rarity, Byleth has come to realize. “Oh, for your father? Of course. You know where to find me. I’ll see you later, then, perhaps.”

Edelgard nods and then heads down the stairs. Once her footsteps fade for good, Byleth decides to begin with the professors’ offices and library. Her father’s old office is sparse, decorated only with a few weapons and some spare armor parts. Hanneman’s office looks like someone set off a bomb made of old papers with nonsensical scribbles about Crests stuffed between large, thick tomes on the subject. Sothis snorts about his chicken scratch handwriting, but otherwise, finds nothing noteworthy. Manuela’s office/nurse’s office has nothing to offer them either, though her booze stash was much easier to find than Byleth would have thought it would be. She turns into the library, finger tracing over spine after spine, leafing through innumerable pages of history tomes without a single mention of the Red Canyon, save for a single mention in a book chronicling the history of Saint Seiros. Byleth reshelves a book just one of the librarians approaches her.

“Looking for something specific? Perhaps I can help.”

Byleth turns to him. By all accounts he seemed a kindly old man: thinning brown hair, brown eyes, a slight hunch in his back from looking over books all day, but something about his gaze unsettled something deep within Byleth. For a split second, he appeared ghostly pale, the whites of his eyes black as night and filled with malice, and maybe just a touch of fear. But then she blinked and the pale man was gone, replaced by the happy—if a bit confused—librarian before her.

“You’re that new professor, aren’t you? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Byleth manages to force the words past her lips, and she hopes they sound normal.

“They don’t.” Sothis says, unhelpfully.

“I’m Thomas. I was employed here at the Monastery for quite some time before taking a leave of absence, but now I’ve returned. What good luck, for us to be here at the same time.”

Somehow, that just made the anxiety in Byleth’s stomach grow. “Yes, how lucky. I’m Professor Byleth, head of the Black Eagle house.”

“Now, you were looking for a book? Or was it a couple books in particular? Let’s just start with what type of book you were looking for.”

“History. I’m looking for information about the Red Canyon.”

“Ah, then you’ll want this one.” He shuffles to a nearby shelf and plucks the History of Saint Seiros from a long line of books. “It’s—,”

“I’ve already read that one. It mentions the Red Canyon once, just by its name and nothing else. I’m looking for more of an in-depth history. I want to know what happened there, why it’s important to the Church.”

Thomas stares at her for a moment, then points to the cover of the book. “Saint Seiros was there.” He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s good to see our new professor taking such an interest in the teachings of the Church, but it’s clear you have a long way to go.”

Byleth sighs as Thomas shoves the book in her hands. “I . . . this isn’t what I need. I need something more in-depth.”

“I’m afraid anything more than that is something that would get put in my personal collection. Seteth is very . . . particular about what books the student have access to. You know how it is.”

Sothis appears over her shoulder. “No, we really do not!”

“I see.” Byleth nods, her expression straight despite Sothis yelling in her ear. “Well, I really must be going. My students have a riding lesson today, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Glad to see you’re so dedicated to your students, Professor. Have a lovely lesson. Give them my best.”

Byleth gives him a half-hearted wave, turns on her heel, and walks as fast as she can out of the library and around the corner. Down the hall, she notices the door to the Audience Chamber ajar and looks into Seteth’s office as she passes to see if he’s in there. He’s not. She pauses, and then darts inside, giving a quick search around his desk and side table. Some request forms, some architectural sketches, but nothing exceedingly out of the ordinary, or anything that caused a reaction like seeing Thomas had. She turns to leave and then stops dead in her tracks.

Hanging by Seteth’s door, just above eye level—so subtle, really, that one could easily miss it if they weren’t looking for it—was a beautiful painting of a pure, white dragon surrounded by lilies. Byleth stares, feet rooted in the spot, as the picture seems to come alive before her very eyes.

_ The dragon stands in a ruined, burning landscape, the exact details flickering in and out of focus. Its horns and fangs shine in the still roaring flames, its cries deafed to her ears as its eyes—pure, white, indecipherable—seem to look directly through her. She can’t hear it, but it seems almost . . . mournful in a way? It stretches its wings to full height, lowering its head in preparation for take off, and Byleth can almost make out a shape above its nostrils, just where the horns end. It’s almost like a metal plate, like armor welded onto its face, and it almost looks like— _

_ The dragon flaps its wings down and lifts its massive body into the air, a whirlwind of ash clouding her sight and filling her nose. The last thing she sees is the shape of the dragon cutting through the sky with a pronounced stutter in the direction of the cathedral. _

Byleth steps back, reeling from the force of the vision as she readjusts to Seteth’s office around her. Sothis floats nearby, looking at the picture.

“I think . . . that is enough for today,” She says, her usual playfulness gone from her voice. “We have learned much today. You should really be getting to the little ones, now.”

She vanishes without saying goodbye.

* * *

“Are horses in Sarepida anything like the horses we have here in Fódlan?” Ferdinand pokes his head over his horse’s back with a friendly grin. “Our horses are very versatile. They’re excellent in battle, but they’re also—,”

“No, they aren’t,” Wren interrupts him. “Horses are exclusive to nobility, and they aren’t quite as . . .” She plucks at one of the plumes on the horse’s coat. “Fluffy.”

“Then you’re in for quite the treat this year. There’s nothing quite like the first time you ride a horse.”

“Alright, horse boy, relax, it’s just a horse.” Wren settles into her saddle. “I’m pretty sure they’re all the same—woah!”

She ducks her head as a dark shape flies over their heads accompanied by a strong gust of wind, startling their horses. Laughter peals from the sky as Claude lowers his Pegasus into a hover just above the ground and he watches Wren and Ferdinand calm their horses.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist. You were sitting ducks out here.”

“Sitting ducks, you say?” Wren raises an eyebrow and makes to get off her horse. “Wait, let me get a bow and we’ll see who’s the  _ real _ sitting duck.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Claude lets out a scandalized gasp.

“Claude, you shouldn’t upset the horses like that.” Ingrid shakes her head as she and Sylvain enter the stables, leading their horses by the reins. “You should be more considerate.”

Wren leans over to Sylvain and Ferdinand and whispers, “Considerate of the horses, of course. Not me or Ferdinand, who are on them.”

Ferdinand frowns and shakes his head, but Sylvain struggles to contain his laughter as he mounts his own horse, sweeping up a lance from the weapons rack as he trots by. Ingrid glares indignantly from him to Wren.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain says in a sing-song tone. “Come hit some targets with me, Ingrid.”

Ingrid groans, but joins him. Ferdinand retrieves his own lance, and he and Wren practice on dummies across the stables. After striking the dummy for what felt like the hundredth time, Wren brings her horse around to take a break, sheathing her sword and stretching out her arms, thinking that perhaps she should take the opportunity to practice spellcasting on horseback. She’s about to finish her stretches when she notices a girl by the stables tending to one of the horses, but her eyes are trained on them.

“Hey, Ferdinand. Who’s that?”

Ferdinand tosses his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes. “Hm, that girl is part of the Golden Deer class, I believe. Marianne von Edmund. She’s a noble; recently adopted by—,”

“Yeah, thank you, Ferdinand.” Wren dismounts her horse and approaches Marianne, who pretends not to notice her. “Hi. Are you here to practice riding, too?”

Marianne frowns and focuses on brushing. Wren leans against the stable door, looking in the horse’s eyes.

“He seems to like you a lot. Is he yours?”

“Dorte is . . . my friend.” The edges of Marianne’s lips quirk in a small smile as she runs her hands over his back. “I ride a different one.”

“He’s a great horse. I can tell he’s well cared for. So what does your professor have you out here training for?”

“Um, well, Professor Manuela thinks my white magic and lance skills would be most beneficial if I could pair them with riding, so . . . here I am.”

“Ah, a holy knight. Very impressive.” Wren’s head quirks to the side. “But I get the feeling it’s not what you want to do.”

“I . . . no. I’m not use on the battlefield, or anywhere for that matter. My own adoptive father sent me here just to get me out of the way, after all. That’s where I’m best suited: out of the way.”

Wren taps a finger to her cheek. “Have you considered switching to focus just on your white magic and trying to become a bishop?”

“A . . . bishop . . . ?”

“Yeah! Bishops stay out of the way of the frontlines, but also provide essential healing and other powerful white magics for armies. They aren’t talked about as often as the likes of warriors or dark mages, but bishops are really essential when it comes to rounding out an army, and—,” Wren seems to catch herself, coughing into her elbow with an embarrassed flush on her cheek. “Anyway, something to think about talking to Professor Manuela about.”

“I don’t know. Professor Manuela can be kind of . . . intimidating.”

“Oh, that’s a front, trust me. I’m in the nurse’s office all the time. She’s really nice as long as you’re polite and not one of those stuck up noble types, which you don’t really strike me as. You seem really nice, so I think as long as you’re like this if you decide this is what you want, you’ll be fine.”

“I-I see.” Marianne turns back to brushing Dorte. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Wren turns to go back to her horse and nearly walks into Byleth, hands on her hips and eyebrow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“I was just talking to Marianne.”

“Mhm,” Byleth shakes her head. Over her shoulder, Ferdinand looks at her apologetically. “Well, technically I am late, so I can’t really fault you.”

“You know what else you can’t fault? How good my spellcasting on horseback is getting.” Wren clambers onto her horse’s back with an excited gleam in her eye. “Let me show you what I can do, Professor. Maybe then you’ll let me take it out into the field.”

“It’s not really my call, there’s these certifications and _ — _ you know what, we’ll cover it next lecture. Let’s see what you can do, since you seem so eager.” Byleth motions for Ferdinand to stand across from her, an equally determined look in his eye as he switches his lance for a dull training one.

“Whoa, against Ferdinand?”

“What’s wrong, Wren? Afraid I am going to be too much of a challenge?”

“. . . okay, Ferdinand. Let’s go.”

Byleth and step back, and once the field is clear, she signals them to go. Ferdinand moves first, spurring his horse forward with a cheer and twirling his lance high. Wren and her horse wait and watch a moment before pushing off second, lightning flowing through her fingertips as Ferdinand stabs down at her, aiming directly for the shoulder. Wren maneuvers her horse to the side, Ferdinand’s strike hitting air as she whirls around and her lightning strikes his arm. He yelps and drops the training lance, shaking his numb arm.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“The feeling in your arm should return in a second.”

“And my pride? What about that?”

“It was just a little practice match, Ferdinand, no need to be so dramatic.”

Byleth interrupts them. “Ferdinand, your attack was predictable. You need to be able to assess the battle as it’s happening and make changes based on your opponent’s movements. If you had noticed Wren waiting for you to come closer, you should have waited or tried a different strike.” She turns from a devastated Ferdinand to a nervous Wren. “Wren you hesitated, and while that may have worked in your favor against Ferdinand, you may not be so lucky against an actual opponent. More often than not the first one to strike is the one that kills. And be more careful with your horse. One wrong move on those ankles, and it’s _ — _ ,”

“Yes, Professor, thank you.”

Sylvain leans over to Ingrid and whispers, “And you thought Hanneman was harsh.”

Claude leans in as well. “I know, compared to her, Professor Manuela seems like a walk in the park.”

Byleth looks at them both, then breaks into a smile. “Don’t let my criticism fool you. I thought it was good for a first match up. Ferdinand took initiative, and his strike was textbook. Wren was creative and flexible, and your control over your lightning has gotten better.”

Both straightened up a little, smiling wide at the praise.

“I think if you both keep the pace you’ve set for yourselves and keep my points in mind, you’ll be where you want to be in no time.” Byleth claps her hands. “Now, I think we’ve earned ourselves an early dinner, don’t you? Let’s take care of the horses and go to the dining hall.”

“I think I will finish the last twenty minutes, Professor. I don’t want to waste a single moment, after all.”

If he had meant that in a snide way, it goes unnoticed by Byleth as she turns to Wren. “Then how about you, Wren?”

“I see no problem with an early dinner. After all, rest is an important part of the learning process. Or so one of my tutors claimed once, and I have proclaimed repeatedly and adamantly ever since.”

Wren takes her horse’s reins, says her goodbyes, and heads over to the stables. She brushes him down and sneaks him a few carrots, then meets Byleth outside and they head over to the dining hall, where a good number of students have already gathered, but quite as many as the dinner rush normally calls. Before they can get in line, Edelgard flags them down.

“Professor, do you have a moment?”

“Of course. Is something the matter?”

“Not at all. It’s actually about what we discussed earlier today, if you have a moment.” Edelgard’s eyes settle on Wren, taking a moment to size her up before a half-smile settles on her lips. “You’re, of course, welcome to join us, Wren.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude—,”

“You wouldn’t.” Byleth taps her chin. “In fact, I believe you owe us a dinner after you couldn’t join us last time.”

Wren looks between the two, eyes wide, then breaks into a charming smile. “Well, with an invitation like that, how could I refuse?”

“Excellent, I’ll find us a place to sit.”

Byleth and Wren grab their food and join Edelgard in a secluded table near the back of the dining hall. Few other students sit around them, even as it grows noisier with the dinner crowd growing larger by the second, and even those who are by them have their nose buried in a book or are tinkering with some weapon. Wren clears her throat as they settle in.

“So what is this about?”

Byleth and Edelgard fill Wren in on the details of their monthly mission into Faerghus as part of the Knights of Seiros’ rearguard with Catherine. When they finish, she nods slowly.

“So, not at all a step down from our mission from last month? Great . . .” She looks between them. “But what exactly do you need to discuss? Tactics? It sounds like it’s gonna be a walk in the park. Erm, a walk through Faerghus, whatever that looks like. Maybe it is a park, I don’t really know.”

“The Professor wanted to know more about why Lonato was rebelling, and the Archbishop and Seteth were . . . unable to give a straight answer, given the circumstances.” Edelgard rubs her brow with a sigh. “However, I am more than willing to share what I know.”

“Oh, this will probably be helpful for me, too, then. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes, well, after the Tragedy of Duscur—when the people of Duscur allegedly assassinated King Lambert and his consort—many Kingdom nobles were implicated as having conspired with Duscur. One of them was Lord Lonato’s son, Christophe. He was captured, brought to the Church, and executed for his crimes, which both he and Lonato staunchly denied. Ever since, Lord Lonato has been openly critical and dissident towards the Church.”

“I mean, who could blame him?” Wren rubs her eyes. “Why was the Church even the one to do something? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Christophe to be put in a cell until the Kingdom got itself sorted and have the new King or Regent or whatever they do over there hand out justice?”

“This is what the Church is for, allegedly. To step in if one of the three regions should falter.”

“I wouldn’t call having your sole sovereign power assassinated “faltering,” but I see your point.”

“I understand why Lonato rebels now,” Byleth says. “But why not tell me then?”

“Because the knight who captured and brought Christophe to the Church was  _ Catherine _ .”

Wren chokes on whatever she’s eating. “And they’re sending her with  _ us _ ? Why would they do that?”

“I . . . honestly can’t tell you. They didn’t tell me anything.” Byleth frowns, trying to process the new information as quickly as she could. “It’s incredibly dangerous. Why . . . ?”

“It’s official: they hate us.”

Edelgard glares at Wren. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m only allowed to speak the truth. They wouldn’t do this to us if they didn’t. You know it, I know, the Professor knows it. We set the bar too high with our first mission, and now they hate us.”

“You’re being overdramatic.” Edelgard rolls her eyes. “It’s like Seteth said: the rebellion will most likely be over and squashed by the time we get there, and Lonato will be cold and in the ground, especially if they have something to say about it.”

“If you say so.” Wren takes a sip of her water. “Hey, Professor, you can borrow kids from other Houses, right?”

“I wouldn’t say it like that, but yes, I can. Why?”

“We should borrow that Ashe kid from the Blue Lions. The one with the freckles and the grey hair.”

“Why?”

“Well, Lonato’s his adopted father, right? So I’m assuming his siblings probably live in or near the Castle where all this fighting is happening, right?” Wren shrugs. “I don’t know. Just thought he might want to come with us. He won’t get permission to go otherwise.”

“You realize Lonato is most likely going to be dead or dying, right? And even if he’s not, he’s not going to be the same man that he’s looked up to until now.” Edelgard frowns. “How can you think he’d want to see that?”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask, will we? I just thought he’d want the chance to check on his siblings. Maybe he’d want the chance to say goodbye. Wouldn’t you?”

“I-that’s . . .” Edelgard hesitates. “Yes, maybe I would. Would you?”

Wren gathers her plates. “Of course I’m gonna say goodbye to my father. I’m gonna be the one killing him.”

Silence.

“Haha! Just kidding! You should see the looks on your faces right now.” Wren stands with her empty dishes in her arms. “I see those jokes don’t go over as well in Fódlan. Noted. I’ve got a lot of journaling to do after this, so I’m gonna turn in for the night. Thanks for the dinner!”

She turns and disappears without a word into the throng of students searching for empty seats, leaving Byleth and Edelgard to stare at the space where she had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Sorry I'm late. Work is picking up again and making me do things despite the fact I told them I wouldn't because of the pandemic but :)))))))) what are you gonna do :)))))))) anyway, yes I am still plugging away at this behind the scenes despite the long time between chapter updates. I'm gonna try to do it semi-regularly still and get myself onto to a more regular schedule but it's hard when work is constantly fluctuating :))))))))) smile through the pain
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I really enjoy writing Byleth and Wren, so I liked that I could really get into Byleth more this chapter. I really like writing her interactions and her relationship with Sothis more in this fic.


	7. Union

It’s early morning the next week when Wren wakes, stretching her shoulders as she dresses and heads out of the dorms and makes her way towards the tea gardens with a delicately wrapped package under her arm. She passes the large hedges and sees her guest already waiting for her with a pot in the center of the table and a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

“I think it’s bad manners to start without both party members present,” Wren jokes as she sits beside Dorothea. “It’s bad enough it took so long for you to make good on this tea you owe me.”

“A good chef always tastes their food before serving. You have to understand, I’m not usually on this end of tea time.” Dorothea wags her finger in Wren’s direction and pours her a cup.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Thea. It’s just tea. How bad can it be?”

“Well, I tried my best. We don’t have any Sarepidan blends here in Fódlan—,”

“Tea isn’t really what we’re known for. But I’m confident in your abilities.” Wren takes a sip and places the package in the center of the table. “I made some cookies for the occasion as well. Try one.”

“You can bake!?” Dorothea takes an experimental bite of a cookie. “You can bake _well_?”

“You sound surprised, but I’ll gladly take the compliment.”

“Where did you learn to bake like this?”

Wren sets her cup down on the table. “I’m self-taught, mostly. Most of my time was spent training and with tutors, so mealtimes were . . . less than regular. I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I learned to cook for myself.”

“It sounds like your father pushed you very hard. I’m sure your mother had a lot to say about that.”

Wren hums, turns her eyes to the hedges being meticulously trimmed by the Monastery staff, and takes another sip of her tea. “My mother wasn’t really in the picture. The woman responsible for raising me was more or less complicit. Anything to gain the King’s favor and whatnot.” She flashes a wry smile at Dorothea over the rim of her cup. “But I’m sure you know about that. The world of the performing arts can be just as cutthroat and deadly as that of succession. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Well, it’s true it can be very competitive, but I had an excellent mentor. I’m sure even in your country you’ve heard of Professor Manuela’s amazing career.”

“I’m afraid not, but it does explain how you two seem so familiar. So you knew each other before you came to the Academy? That must’ve been a small comfort. At least you would know someone.”

“It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but Professor Manuela is one of the reasons I came here, actually. I’ve looked up to her ever since we were together at the opera company, so coming here after my time there just felt natural.”

“And here you thrive.” Wren holds up her cup in a mock toast.

“Don’t think of mocking me. Your delicious cookies won’t save you from my anger.” Dorothea tosses a cookie at Wren’s face. It bounces off her cheek and falls into her lap.

“I would never. I only tell the truth.” Wren finishes the last of her tea and stretches her arms over her head. “Honestly, Thea, you’ve got these nobles all figured out. I had tutors for these people and I’m floundering.”

“Did your father lock you in a tower or something?”

“No? Why would he do that?”

“It’s—nevermind.” Dorothea’s eyes flit to something over Wren’s shoulder just as she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Hello, Professor. Care to join us for some tea? Wren made some lovely cookies.”

“It sounds nice, but I’m actually here to take Wren to our lesson on Crestology with Professor Hanneman.” Byleth smiles and Wren groans.

“Crestolo . . . ?” Dorothea looks at Wren’s slumped form, corner of her lips quirked up as she tries to fight a smile. “Tell me she’s joking.”

“She’s not.”

“I’m not.” Byleth nods. “Professor Hanneman offered to teach me about Crests since I don’t know much about them. And since Wren didn’t grow up here, I thought she might want to learn a thing or two about Crests while she was here.”

Dorothea nudges Wren’s foot under the table. “You don’t look too happy about this.”

“It’s just—I’m happy to learn more about Crests, but Professor Hanneman has a style of teaching that’s a little . . . hectic. I have a hard time paying attention.”

Byleth moves to pat her shoulder, but stops when she notices Wren tense. “But we’ve learned a lot about Crests from him. I’m sure if we ask him to, he’ll slow down.”

“He’s just very passionate, is all. I just don’t get the fuss.” Wren rolls her eyes. “It’s just blood.”

Dorothea snorts loudly once, then quickly reins it in. “Okay, well, if you’re really here to make good relations with Fódlan nobles, let me give you some advice: don’t insult their special blood magic out loud. It might get you on Edie’s good side, though.”

Wren frowns slightly. “Yeah, somehow, I don’t think so.”

“We really should get going, Wren.”

“I’ll meet you there. I’ve gotta take my cup to the dining hall.”

“Not necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Dorothea waves politely. “You have fun at your lessons, you two. Study hard! Be excellent!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wren stands, following after Byleth. “Do what you want with the cookies! My treat!”

“I intend to!”

Wren and Byleth turn the corner into the Reception Hall, and Dorothea helps herself to another cookie as she gathers up the remains of her and Wren’s tea just as someone else takes her seat. Edelgard looks over Dorothea’s shoulder in the direction where Wren and Byleth had just gone, checking to make sure they had left for good, before looking at Dorothea.

“Have a nice tea?”

“Edie, how lovely to see you so early in the morning! You’re usually so busy training at this time I don’t have the pleasure of your company.” Dorothea motions to the plate of cookies as she continues to stack the dishes. “Please, help yourself. I couldn’t possibly eat them all.”

“Perhaps later. I’d like to ask you something.”

“Ooh, Hubie still in his coffin at this hour?”

“This is serious.”

“As always. I’m only trying to lighten the mood, Edie. You have my full attention.” Dorothea places the teapot on top of the dishes and folds her hands on the table. “What would you like?”

“I’d like your opinion on something. A House matter.”

“Oh, Hubie must be really sick or something.”

“I’ve already asked Hubert. I’ll be asking everyone because it is so close to when we’ll be leaving for the mission, and it could potentially change a lot. It’d be bad to spring this on them unsuspecting.”

“And you came to me first after Hubert? I’m flattered.”

“I value your opinion, Dorothea.” Edelgard drums her fingers on the table. “It’s about Ashe Ubert, of the Blue Lion House. You’re aware of his relation to Lord Lonato?”

Dorothea frowns and shifts a little in her seat. “I am. It’s terrible to see the effect this is all having on him. He’s such a sweet boy, but lately he’s just seemed so . . . I don’t know . . . lost.”

“The suggestion was brought to me to have him join our House for this mission. He has two younger siblings, and it would afford him the opportunity to check on them, as well as . . . possibly see his father for the last time.”

“I don’t see why we can’t make an effort to include him. I’m sure it would mean a lot to him. If not now, at least down the line.” Dorothea shakes her head. “The idea of killing one of our classmate’s parents . . . they definitely didn’t mention that in the admission’s pamphlet.”

“Indeed.” Edelgard’s eyes land on the plate of cookies. “Is the offer of a cookie still . . . open?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Dorothea’s face lights up as she watches Edelgard delicately bite into one. “Wren made far too many for me to eat myself. I’m thinking of sharing them with others.”

“Wren made these?”

Dorothea nods as she finishes packing up the cookies and hauls the tea dishes to the dining hall, calling out for Edelgard to have a good day over her shoulder. Edelgard remains in her seat as she finishes eating, chewing thoughtfully and brushing crumbs from her gloves before she stands and heads off in search of Ferdinand.

* * *

Wren scribbles frantically in her notebook, letters barely legible as Hanneman moves from topic to topic like a man on a mission, his piece of chalk dwindling fast enough that Wren legitimately worried for his fingers at one point (and her ears if his fingernails scraped against the board). She huffs as he flips the board over yet again, leaving her notes a half-written mess, and she turns to a fresh page. She tries to ignore the growing pain in her wrist and arm as she prepares to follow again when she feels Byleth’s hand on her shoulder.

“Professor Hanneman, why don’t we take a moment? Let this material really sink in before we move on?”

“Ah, there’s that ‘new teacher’ naivete I was expecting.” Hanneman laughs deeply. “How can we stop now when we’re just getting to the good stuff? We have to keep going while the foundational concepts are fresh in your minds!”

“The only thing fresh in my mind is the cooked grey matter,” Wren mumbles, only loud enough for Byleth to hear.

“Just a five minute break, Professor. I’m just feeling a little restless is all, and I want to grab some complementary materials from the library.”

Hanneman smiles and claps his hands. “Ah, yes, of course, of course! If you’re heading there, I have a few texts in mind for our next lesson.”

“Is it actually a few?” Wren leans forward. “Like a few? Or when you say ‘a few,’ do you really mean—,” Hanneman shoves a moderately sized list in their faces before she can finish. “—way more than a few.”

“These are just the essential texts. If you’re feeling up to it, there are a few non-essential—,”

Byleth could practically hear Wren’s teeth grinding next to her. “No, no, Professor, I think we’ll stick with the essential texts for now. We’ll be right back.”

Byleth stands and heads for the door, motioning for Wren to follow her before she can say anything else. They walk to the library in silence and begin sorting through the shelves for the tomes Hanneman requested, the stacking of leather covers on the table between them the only sound passing until a voice says from behind them:

“Can I help you find anything, Professor?”

Wren sets the book she was holding down particularly hard, and Byleth looks over at her in surprise. Tomas either doesn’t notice or ignores the sound as he approaches them with his hands folded in his sleeves, kindly gaze sweeping between them as he waits for an answer. Wren swallows thickly and looks over her shoulder at him.

“No, thank you, we’re alright—,”

“Ah, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. You’re the new transfer student, correct?” Tomas extends one of his hands forward. “I’m the librarian. I’ve seen you quite often on this floor, though more in the physician’s office than this sanctuary of knowledge, I’m afraid.”

Byleth raises an eyebrow and Wren feels sweat bead between her shoulder blades. “Just a couple accidents. I can be rather clumsy. I’m afraid I don’t know you, either. I was well prepped as to who the staff would be before my arrival, but I don’t recall your face ever coming up.”

The corner of Tomas’ lip twitches just slightly and he nods. “Yes, I only just returned recently after some time away. I thought to return to service to the Church during such dire times was all an old man such as myself could do.”

Wren looks around the library, unimpressed. “Seems like an odd place to live out one’s twilight years.”

“Wren!” Byleth waves Tomas off. “Thank you for the offer, Tomas, but we’re almost finished here.”

“Of course, of course, Professor. If you change your mind, I’ll be just over here.”

He waves cheerfully and then vanishes behind the maze of bookcases, mumbling something to himself. Wren watches as he goes with a sour frown, turning back to the bookcase in front of her when Byleth points a particularly heavy tome right at her.

“What is the matter with you today?”

“I don’t like that guy.” Wren looks to make sure he’s really gone, leaning in to whisper to Byleth. “He gives me the creeps.”

“It’s not just that. You snapped at Hanneman, too.” Byleth puts the book on top of the pile. “What’s wrong?”

“Professor, it’s nothing. Let’s just get the rest of these books for Hanneman and—,”

“The books can wait. Please, let me help you.”

Wren sighs and runs a hand through her hair, fiddling with the strap of her eyepatch. “Do you . . . do you think Edelgard is mad at me?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t think our conversation about Ashe went well. And when I think about it, I feel like I may have stepped over a line when I talked about her father like that.” Wren shrugs, picking at the corner of a book. “I don’t know. I just don’t like the idea that someone is mad at me.”

Byleth taps her chin. “Have you seen Edelgard since dinner last night? Did she seem upset with you?”

“No.”

“So what would make you think she’s mad at you?”

“I don’t know, just a feeling I get when I think about what happened and—,” Wren shudders, shaking out her hands. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore, Professor. I’ve been thinking about this ever since last night.”

Byleth’s eyes narrow. “You . . . did sleep last night, right?”

“I had to study anyway—,”

“Hmmm, I have an idea: I’ll talk to Hanneman about ending today’s lessons here, so why don’t you go take a nap? You’ll probably feel a lot better afterwards.”

“I don’t know . . . .”

“Why don’t you try? And if you don’t, we’ll come with something after the battle formations lecture later today.”

“Obviously I won’t feel better after that! I _suck_ at battle formations—!”

“Wren: Go. To. Sleep.”

“Alright, Professor, I’m going.” 

Wren leaves the library, and Byleth checks the stack of books out and carries them back to Hanneman’s office alone. She gives him the bad news, which he takes considerably well, and then leaves. Sothis pops up at her side with a frown.

“Your little ones come with some rather big problems sometimes.”

“Sometimes. We’ll see how she feels after she gets some sleep.” Byleth returns to her room to rest and prep materials for the formations lecture. “She’s one of the few problem sleepers I have to keep an eye on. Her, Edelgard, maybe Linhardt—I haven’t quite figured out if they’re sleep deprived, or if they’re just naturally that sleepy. They do fall asleep in the library often doing research.”

“So what do you plan to do?”

“Hm?” Byleth looks up from her notes. “Why would I do anything?”

“What do you _mean_ ‘why would you do anything?’” Sothis throws her arms above her head and perches on the edge of Byleth’s desk with an indignant expression. “ _Why_ would you do _nothing_? These are your kids! You should be more concerned that they’re getting along, especially before a mission such as yours!”

Byleth stares at her, confused. “I’ll . . . admit I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Lucky you have me. Once again, you may thank me at any time.”

“Perhaps soon, but I truly don’t think Edelgard is upset with Wren. She doesn’t seem like the type to stew in resentment quietly. And even if she was upset, I’d like to think she’d come talk to me—her Professor—about it.”

As if on cue, a knock on the door sends Sothis away in a puff of sparks as Byleth answers. Edelgard stands on the other side, surprised to have an answer so quickly, or perhaps one without an announcement first. Either way, she quickly shakes it off and clears her throat.

“Professor, I have something I’d like to discuss with you before this afternoon’s lecture if you have a moment.”

“Of course,” Byleth nods and steps aside to allow her in.

* * *

Golden sunlight filters through the windows of the Black Eagles classroom as students slowly fill the seats for the final lecture of the day. Edelgard and Hubert, early arrivals by nature, sit at the front of the class with their papers already organized and ready to take notes, and Wren feels the muscles between her shoulder blades tighten at the sight of them. She ducks soundlessly towards the back, practically throwing herself into a seat beside Linhardt, who doesn’t even look up at the commotion beside them.

“Hey, Linhardt, is it okay if I hide back here with you today?”

“That depends,” A dark green eye peeks up from beneath a curtain of equally green hair. “What did you do to make you so jumpy?”

“I think Edelgard might be mad at me.”

They ponder the answer for a moment before lifting their head and stretching their shoulders. “Then your behavior is a reasonable reaction. You can hide here, just don’t mess up my notes.”

Wren smiles thankfully, but slowly frowns when she looks down at the table and sees Linhardt’s books and papers spread over every available inch. “Uh, but where am I—?”

Linhardt looks at her with one raised eyebrow, and Wren nods, balancing her papers and book on her lap. Linhardt hums as they flip through their own materials, which Wren realizes have nothing to do with battle formations.

“Wait, what are you studying? Is this for another lecture?”

“Oh, no, the Monastery doesn’t offer any classes on this.” They hold up a long parchment with a faded, complicated diagram of symbols, a few of which Wren can just barely identify as Crests. “This is all Crest Theory.”

“Ohh, so you’re kinda like Professor Hanneman?”

Linhardt grimaces. “Sort of. It’s a small field, so I guess the comparison can’t be helped. Do you know a lot about Crests, Wren?”

“Uh, well I had some tutors, but like you said, it’s a small field, so they couldn’t really tell me much. I have been learning from Hanneman since I arrived, though.” Wren squints as she examines a few of the open books in front of her. “They told me that Crests were the result of your Goddess giving her blood to Heroes who helped defeat a tyrant, and Crest bearers are the descendants of those Heroes.”

Linhardt blinks. “Eh, that’s close enough. You’ve got the gist of it. And Crests grant their bearer’s enormous power on their own, let alone the ability to wield a Heroes’ Relic.” They look around, then lean in to whisper conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’ve managed to identify a couple of people with hidden Crests.”

Wren’s eye widens. “Really? Who?”

“Now that would be telling, and that would be rude. Not to mention, it’s only a hunch. I wouldn’t dare spread rumors without ample evidence.” Linhardt sits up straight as Byleth enters the room.

Byleth motions for silence as she takes her place at the front of the room. “Before we begin, I have an announcement to make. We will be having a new student join our House.” She motions towards the back of the room and Ashe enters, joining Byleth at the front. “Everyone, please welcome Ashe to the Black Eagles House.”

A smattering of applause greets him, but a loud whoop from Caspar brings a small smile to his face as he steps forward.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your class even though it’s so close to the . . . to your mission.” Ashe’s hands shake by his side, and he clasps them behind his back to keep them hidden. “I’ve been told that you are willing to make an effort to include me in your upcoming mission, and I want you to know that I’m going to work as hard as I can. Thank you again.”

He takes a seat in the nearest empty chair and Byleth nods to him, turning to begin her lecture. Wren looks at the back of his head, mouth agape, until Linhardt closes it and motions for her to focus on the lecture. It passes in a blur (though, to be honest, most formations lectures do for Wren; formations is just not her strongest subject), and before Wren can process what’s happening Byleth dismisses them with the reminder of an upcoming exam.

Wren numbly gathers her things and follows the crowd that forms around Ashe, who formally shakes the hands of his new House members. When he gets to Wren, his smile widens, and he clasps her hand with both of his own. She freezes for a moment, then relaxes.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” He says.

“Um, yeah. Any time.”

He nods, then moves on to the others. Wren watches from a distance, and feels someone stands beside her.

“It was a good call after all,” Edelgard says. “Your instincts continue to be correct.”

“Y-yeah.” Wren’s entire being shakes as she says it, trying and failing to get a look at Edelgard out of the corner of her eye. “So, you did this?”

“The Professor did most of the paperwork, but I did talk to our other House members—,” Edelgard finally notices Wren and half-turns toward her. “Are you alright?”

“Look, if you’re gonna hit me just make it quick, and don’t do the face? I only have the one eye and—,”

“I am not going to hit you.” Edelgard frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I, uh,” Wren rubs the back of her neck. “You’re not . . . mad at me?”

“No, I’m not. Now stand up straight.”

“I’m, uh, sorry, I—,” Wren straightens her jacket and shirt. “I don’t . . . understand. I—,”

“I was a little mad at first, maybe.” Edelgard adjusts her gloves idly. “But after thinking it over, I realized you made some good points. Like I said, your instincts are good, and you have the good judgement to act on them. Even if in this case, it was _me_ acting on them.”

“I’m—,”

“You said you’re working to become a councilor to your siblings, correct? Your skills would be wasted there.” Edelgard looks her over slowly. “Perhaps a general would be more suited for you.”

Wren stares at her, then blinks and shakes herself out of her stupor. “I . . . thank you, Edelgard. But I was never born to lead. It is simply not in my nature.”

“A shame, but there is still time.” Edelgard folds her arms across her chest. “I might convince you otherwise yet.”

Wren laughs, loud and bright. “Only time will tell, I suppose.”

* * *

_The message comes in the early morning, mist rising high off the ground as the sun just begins to peek over the horizon: the Knights have suppressed the rebellion at the Western Church and it is time for them to move in._

_Byleth gathers her students and they begin the long, cold trek from Garegg Mach into Faerghus. With the rebellion mostly scattered, the Knights feel confident that travel by wagon is safe, saving them from exhausted and pained feet when they finally arrive. Those on horses aren’t really bothered, but are grateful for a place to sit and rest when the saddle begin to wear on them too heavily. Byleth herself walks, preferring to stay vigilant of their surroundings as they march onward._

_Catherine, for the most part, keeps with her Knights, though she does occasionally drop back to speak with Byleth. She asks a lot about the “Ashen Demon,” wanting to know more about her days as a mercenary. Byleth indulges her as much as she can, but focuses more on their surroundings as they approach Magdred Way._

_The moment they set foot in the pass a thick fog curls around their feet, making it impossible to see more than a few inches in front of them. Byleth calls for the Knights to stop, drawing her sword as the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Off to the side she sees the students unload and form a semi-circle in front of the wagons, weapons drawn and poised to strike._

_Suddenly, a dark shape forms in the fog and slices through the air, an enemy arrow shot from inside that Caspar barely had time to dodge. Byleth takes her position at the head of the formation, directing her students as Catherine and her Knights begin cutting a path down the left side of the fog. Byleth and her students keep together in a line, pressing forward slowly as enemies attack them from all angles. Out of the fog, a mage appears, balls of fire and lightning dancing between their hands that they hurl at Byleth on her approach. She weaves around them easily, blade slicing across the mage’s chest._

_Blood stains his clothing and hands as he collapses, and as he breathes his last the fog around them begins to thin and then disappears altogether. The neighing of a horse brings her attention ahead, where a man in bright, brilliant steel armor and an expression of clouded hatred awaits. Catherine and Ashe charge him at the same time, blood splattering the banner that waves so strongly above him._

“Professor?”

Byleth awakes with a start, cold sweat on her brow as she looks in the direction of the voice. Wren’s brows draw in with concern, already dismounting her horse.

“Are you alright?” Wren asks, offering a hand to help her up. “You were mumbling and moving around an awful lot in your sleep.”

“It’s fine. Just some nightmares is all.” Byleth rubs her eyes. “Everyone ready to get going again?”

“Yeah. The Knights say we’re about to enter Magdred Way. Should be good for sightseeing this time of year.”

Byleth frowns. “Let’s hope there’s good weather.”

“Huh?” Wren cocks her head in question, but shrugs it off as she gets back on her horse and they rejoin the others.

The first few steps of Magdred Way were, indeed, good for sightseeing. The trees and rock formations were beautiful to look at against the clear, babbling streams, even with the slightly overcast sky. With no chance of rain, the students were out and about to take in the scenery.

Then the fog rolled in.

Again, Catherine and her Knights splinter off. Again, Byleth calls for formation. They begin to advance forward, Byleth pairs them off.

“Edelgard, Hubert, and I will keep following the main path. I need the rest of you to clear out the forest,” Byleth says. “Petra, Dorothea, Bernadetta, and Ashe take the right side. Caspar, Linhardt, and Wren take the left. Provide support to Catherine’s unit if they need it.”

“Doubtful,” Linhardt drawls.

“Just watch after them. They’re our allies, too.”

“You can count on us, Professor.” Caspar nods. “Let’s get going, you two!” He hurries off into the brush, Linhardt and Wren following behind him.

“You can be counting on us, too, Professor.” Petra nods before leading Dorothea, Bernadetta, and Ashe off into the fog as well.

“Professor,” Hubert says. “I’m not one to nitpick, but is it wise to be splitting up in this fog?”

“They can handle it. And the more ground we cover, the sooner we find the source of the fog. The sooner we find the source, the sooner it’s gone.”

Hubert thinks to himself for a moment, then says. “Of course, Professor. Then we should get moving ourselves, don’t you think?”

Byleth nods, and they follow the path deeper into the fog.

* * *

Caspar lands another devastating punch into the chest of a rebelling soldier, whose counter attack is interrupted by Wren’s fireball that lands him flat on his back. He groans in pain, but stays down. Linhardt blows back a few soldiers of their own with wind magic, leaving Caspar to pummel them while they’re off balance. Wren breathes in deeply, coughing slightly.

“This stuff is heavy. I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Really? I think I’ve acclimated to it.”

“Lucky,” Wren mutters, conjuring lightning in her hands and shooting it at the back of a soldier that approaches Caspar from behind. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“What? Fighting rebelling soldiers in the name of the Church? What could _possibly_ be wrong about that?”

“No, well yes, but I mean like everything about this. The situation, everything just feels wrong. I’ve just got a bad feeling.” Wren frowns, then lurches forward as she’s hit in the back with something heavy, then feels something constricting around her torso so tightly it forces the air out of her lungs. She looks down and sees a rope wrapped around her torso, a weight tied to the end of it. She follows the length of the rope until it disappears into the fog and then looks at Linhardt, who is equally horrified by the sight. “Oh no.”

A strong force pulls her from her saddle and flips the entire world, slamming her head against the ground, and drags her faster than she ever thought possible through the mud and rocks and into the fog. Linhardt watches the spot where she disappeared for a moment, then looks over their shoulder and shouts.

“Caspar!” Linhardt takes off running.

Caspar turns from his victorious pursuits and looks from Wren’s empty saddle to Linhardt running into the fog, and then runs after them. “Wait what happened!?”

“They got Wren!”

“Who? Who got Wren!?”

Linhardt darts through the fog, tripping over stones and tree roots as they go, eyes drawn to shifting shadows on all sides as they look for signs of Wren being dragged to follow after. Suddenly, pain blooms in the back of their skull and they feel their legs weaken, falling forward into a pair of soldiers as they pull them away. Caspar thunders through moments later, head on a swivel as he looks for either Linhardt or Wren, but finds neither.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—,” He crashes through the brush until he falls onto the dirt road and scrambles to his feet, sprinting down in search of the Professor and the others.

On the other side of the forest, Petra leaps through the fog and trees, easily cutting down yet another soldier while Dorothea and Ashe pepper another hiding behind a thick knot of trees with arrows and spells. Bernadetta sneaks around and then lets an arrow fly, striking the man right between the ribs and sending him to the ground. They regroup and begin to move forward when a shout cuts through the uneasy quiet of the fog:

“Caspar!”

They freeze, eyes finding each other.

“That was Linhardt,” Dorothea finally says. “I’m sure of it.”

Bernadetta looks nervously through the woods. “Do you think something happened? S-should we go help them?”

“We are a small enough group as is. We should not be splitting up.” Petra frowns and shifts uneasily. “But we should also be helping our fellow classmates. This is a difficult call to be making.”

“I’ll go,” Ashe offered. “I grew up in these parts. I know these woods, fog or no. I’ll go find them, you can keep protecting the Professor and the others. I’ll keep to the forest behind us, where we know we’ve already cleared out all the soldiers.” He turns and runs before anyone can stop him.

“No!” Dorothea calls futilely. “We’re supposed to stick together!”

“We need to be moving,” Petra says. “The Professor and Edelgard will need us to be watching their back.”

* * *

Linhardt groans, the pain in the back of their head a splintering throb that threatens to split them in half with each heartbeat, as they come to. They lift their head, sending waves of pain to the back of their eyes and their temples, and try to move their arms, but find themselves tied to the base of a tree. They struggle against the binds, feeling one of their hands brush against another, able to just barely make out a familiar glove resting against the ground beside them.

“Wren?” They call out softly, unsure if any soldiers are still nearby. “Wren, are you awake?”

The hand shifts slightly and a low groan comes from the other side of the tree, but otherwise, silence answers them.

“This isn’t good.” Linhardt struggles against their binds. “This isn’t good.”

* * *

Byleth charges forward, thwarting a lance jab and disarming its wielder as she focuses on the path forward, the form of the dark mage present in her mind as she searches for their shape in the fog. Edelgard and Hubert follow at her side, her axe easily cutting through an enemy soldier’s sword while his magic leaves others disoriented and unable to counterattack. Byleth turns to order them forward when a ball of dark magic whizzes by her ear and buries itself in a nearby boulder.

The dark mage steps out of the fog, magic building between their fingers as they chant under their breath. Byleth points her sword toward them.

“There, that one!”

“Your attack ends here! You won’t be getting any closer to Lord Lonato!”

They fire more magic towards them. Byleth darts behind the boulder, while Edelgard and Hubert jump off the path and take shelter in the heavy brush, obscuring them from view. The mage growls and turns their attention to the boulder, raining fireballs on the rock to try and force her out from behind it. She steps away from the steadily heating rock, trying to peek around the corner and find an opening, only for more fireballs to fly her way. A break in the fire gives her the opportunity to move and she takes it, darting out from behind the boulder with her sword raised, then stops. Edelgard stands over the defeated dark mage, Hubert congratulating her as he untangles himself from the forest floor.

“Excellent work, Edelgard.” Byleth looks around. “Now the fog should . . .”

She waits, but the fog remains heavy around them, like a shawl three times too big. Her brows draw together in frustration.

“But the mage . . . defeating the mage should have—,”

“Professor! Professor!”

They turn as Caspar sprints towards them down the path, sweat pouring down his face as he stumbles to a stop in front of them. Ashe trails after him, completely winded.

“Caspar, what are you doing here?” Byleth looks behind him. “And where are Wren and Linhardt?”

“Professor, it’s awful! One minute we were taking out bad guys, then the next Linhardt is yelling at me, and then they were both gone!”

“Gone!?” Edelgard repeats. “What do you mean gone? Were they taken?”

“I-I don’t know? I didn’t see. Wren was already gone when Linhardt yelled at me, and I lost Linhardt in the fog.”

“Hm. Taken by the enemy soldiers, perhaps?” Hubert meets Edelgard’s eyes. “As hostages?”

“Why on earth would they do something like that?” Edelgard hisses, grip on her axe tightening enough to splinter the handle.

Byleth closes her eyes. She can feel a slight tremor in her hands that hadn’t been there before, and her heart rattling against her ribs with every beat. Her blood thunders in her ears until it’s all she hears, fast and steady, then slow and steady, like the seconds on a clock. She opens her eyes when she feels the familiar pull on her legs and sees Sothis looking down on her from her throne. It’s not an expression of condescension, per se—the young girl leans forward with both hands on her knees, brows knit together in concern and frowning tightly—but Byleth feels looked down on nonetheless.

“You know what you can do to rectify this.”

Byleth takes a deep, steadying breath. “Not yet. Not until I know.”

“Oh? Will that make it any better? Knowing?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Not everyone can handle it. Knowing.”

“You told me yourself that this power is limited. I need to use it wisely. If I don’t know what I need to do to stop everything from spiraling out of control, I’ll just keep going around and around in an endless cycle until I’ve run out of power and then I won’t be able to fix anything.” Byleth sets her jaw. “We have to find out what’s causing the changes first. Then we rewind time.”

Sothis eyes her warily and then sighs in defeat, shrugging her shoulders. “It is . . . a sound plan. When you say it so confidently, I suppose I have no choice but to believe in you.”

“You’re also stuck inside my head.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sothis growls, floating off her throne and down to Byleth’s level. “Good luck.”

Byleth nods and closes her eyes. The pull on her legs slowly subsides and the fog falls around her shoulders once again. When she opens them, her students are looking expectantly to her, Edelgard at her side with her axe thrown over one shoulder.

“We don’t know that they’ve been taken for sure yet. For all we know, they’re just lost in this fog. This fog that should be . . . Why isn’t it . . .” She rubs her brow and sighs heavily, then turns to Caspar. “Are you alright? You’re not injured?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, but what are we gonna do? We have to find—,”

“First, we’re going to regroup with Petra and the others. Then we’re—,”

A harsh voice interrupts her, every word like metal scraping against stone. “A disappointment, for one thing.”

The curtain of fog around them lifts, revealing the rest of the clearing ahead. Lord Lonato rides through the forest in his gleaming armor, determination blazing in his eyes as he leads his men forward, lance pointing towards Byleth and the others.

“Now there is nowhere left for the Central Church to hide their sins!”

But Byleth’s eyes focus on the shadowy figure behind him, wisps of dark magic and two glowing, red eyes that whisper promises of malice and violence as their owner steps forward into the dim light. Leather makes up the base of their armor, but the metal chest plate and gauntlets fashioned into the likes of claws set them far apart from the lowly foot soldiers they had been fighting so far. But what Byleth can’t take her eyes off of, what sets everyone off balance really, is the mask on their face.

The white stands in contrast with the black and grey of their armor, but it’s just dull enough to give it the appearance of bone, and everyone’s just on edge enough to believe that it is. It’s shape echoes that of a dragon’s skull, with two large horns jutting out of its forehead and two more curling around the sides of its head. A red glow shines from its eye sockets, flitting from Byleth to the students with an unimpressed sigh, waving their hand coated with fog away.

“You were controlling the fog. Who are you?” Byleth asks, stepping to the front with her sword raised. “Why are you here?”

 _You’re the one changing things,_ she doesn’t say, grip on her sword tightening. _Why are you here? What do you want?_

When the masked stranger just stares, Byleth wonders if they’ve heard her thoughts, but instead they step forward, arms open. “You will earn my name if you prove yourselves worthy. Just as you will earn the location of your missing students. A dangerous misstep, to lose them in the fog like that.”

“So they were taken,” Hubert mutters. “How troublesome.”

Edelgard shakes her head. “But why? This doesn’t—,”

“What do you want?” Byleth lowers her sword and raises her hand. “What do you want in exchange for Linhardt and Wren?”

“What do I . . . want?” The masked stranger pauses. They reach for the sheathes on their belt and draw their swords, stretching their neck. “I have one single goal, one single purpose. I have waited my entire existence for an opportunity to grasp it, and as it stands, you are an obstacle. You dare stand in my way, fine, but I won't stand to be underestimated. I want to see it all! I want your full potential! Give me everything you’ve got, and don’t you dare hold back!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it's been a while! So, bad news is because of COVID and capitalism are ruining literally everyone's lives, I'm working on this myself now (writing and editing), so time between chapters is probably going to be more sporadic than it already is. But! I'm really dedicated to this fic and I want to see it through! So just know that I'm plugging away at this behind the scenes and it's not over until you get an "it's over fr" from me. I might be looking at going to grad school in the future, so maybe I will have a more structured schedule in the future (probably not lol), but we'll see.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please remember to stay safe and happy during these trying times!


	8. Infernal

“Wren,” Linhardt says, wiggling against the binds in yet another desperate attempt to get free. If they could just get one of their hands enough slack to cast a spell . . . “I know I’ve thought many times in envy that our sleeping habits could be switched, but right now could not have been a  _ worse _ time for it to happen.”

They struggle for a few more seconds then lean back against the tree, exhausted. The binds begin to cut into the skin of their wrists and leave angry, red marks that they’re sure are going to bruise later. They press the back of their head to the bark, looking up through the leaves and sigh.

“I hope the others are faring better than we are.” They wait for a reply. “Or I am, it seems.”

* * *

Steel meets steel hard enough that sparks fly through the air and Byleth feels the vibration up her arm, shaking her very bones as she pulls her sword back and strikes out again with a shout. The masked stranger moves fast even with their bulky armor, and finds herself giving more ground than she would like as strikes rain down on her from both of their swords. They rear back for another strike, and Byleth grapples their body, weaving her arms under theirs and throwing them over her shoulder to put some distance between them, but the stranger lands on their feet with the grace of a dancer. Byleth would be impressed if she wasn’t so infuriated. And just as quickly she’s surprised when they turn and launch a powerful ice spell in her direction. She dodges to the side, and then jumps back when a meteor crashes down overhead on the spot she had been just seconds earlier.

The dust hasn’t even had a chance to settle before the red eyes of the mask flash through the haze and the stranger leaps through with a devastating chain of blows. Byleth retaliates, anger fueling her strikes as she manages to land a few counters. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices something fly out of the woods in their direction and ducks. She returns to ready position and sees the stranger standing up straight, an arrow caught in their hand. They turn their head in the direction it had come, gaze landing on Petra, Dorothea, and Bernadetta standing just inside the treeline.

“A fine shot,” The masked stranger admits, snapping the arrow in half. “You will not get that close again.”

They take a step towards the forest, and Byleth charges them with a shout. “Hey!”

“Professor!” Petra draws her own sword and motions for Dorothea and Bernadetta to follow her.

The stranger sheathes one of their swords and holds their open hand in Petra and the other’s direction. Lightning gathers in their palm, bright enough to blind her and screaming as a few arcs jump free of their control and streak across the dirt. Clouds swirl over their head and thunder cracks across the sky as more lightning flashes across the sky.

“Send them away,” The stranger warns. “This is between you and me. Send them away, or I will kill them.”

Byleth looks between the spell in their hand and the students. “Go forward! Help the others!”

“Professor—,”

The stranger’s sword crashes down on hers again with enough force to push Byleth back on her heels. She grits her teeth and pushes against them, arms shaking with effort.

“I said go help the others!”

Petra hesitates, then nods and runs towards the others fighting Lonato and his small contingent of soldiers with Dorothea and Bernadetta right behind her. Byleth can barely sigh in relief before the stranger breaks their deadlock and pushes her back. They draw their second sword again, but maintain the distance between them as they slowly circle her.

“You seem to care an awful lot about your students, Professor.” They cock their head at the word. “Such a strange turn from the famed mercenary I had studied. The Ashen Demon was who I came prepared to fight, not some—,”

“Where are Linhardt and Wren?” Byleth narrows her eyes, taking a step closer. “Tell me what you did with them!”

The stranger considers her for a moment, then rolls their neck. “What would you do for them, I wonder? What would you give? How much would you sacrifice? How much are you willing to lose to get what you want, Professor?”

“What . . . are you asking me?”

“I am willing to give  _ anything _ to achieve my goal. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see it come to fruition.” The stranger steps forward, their sword just brushing against Byleth’s. “I am simply trying to see what kind of person you are. If your will isn’t as strong as mine—I’d even settle for half as strong, really—then the fact that you’re standing in my way . . . it’s just insulting. You aren’t even worth the time.”

Byleth frowns, grip tightening on her sword, pushing the blade against the stranger’s. “I would do anything for my students. And if you won’t tell me what you’ve done to them, then I’ll just have to  _ cut _ it out of you.”

The stranger straightens, taken aback. “Oh, so there is a bit of the Ashen Demon left in you, is there? Or perhaps I was mistaken and it never really left? Perhaps it’s always there, just waiting for the right person to unleash it.” They lay a hand on their chest. “In that case, I’m quite honored to be that person. I’m—,”

A rustle from the nearby brush was all the warning they had, but it was somehow more than enough. The stranger twists their sword and bats Byleth’s aside. A blur of white and a rush of wind blows over them both, and a powerful collision showers them both in sparks.

* * *

Edelgard cuts down another soldier with a swing of her axe, cutting through his breastplate and sending him to the ground where he stays motionless. Hubert follows closely behind her, dark magic swirling at his fingertips as mires form in pools around the feet of their enemies and pull them into the ground. Petra follows along their right side through the forest, cutting down and weakening soldiers who try to form any kind of ambush or flank, while Dorothea and Bernadetta finish off anyone she leaves behind. Ashe and Caspar bring up the left, with Caspar leading the charge and Ashe providing cover fire for him.

Lord Lonato has few soldiers left with his rebellion all but decimated, but those that do surround him in the crumbling ruins as the students close in around him protect him with extreme gusto. Edelgard and Hubert charge in first, she using her axe to cut down a soldier with one swing, and then another on the back swing; and he using his magic to slow down those trying to circle around her. As the soldiers instinctively draw to Edelgard, Petra comes out of the forest and cuts down a soldier. Before they know what’s happening, Dorothea and Bernadetta emerge, raining fire and arrows down on them, crippling their forces on the right side. Caspar bears down on the left, his brute force and speed giving him an advantage over the soldiers in their heavy armor as he lands a deadly jab on the jaw of a foe. Any he leaves behind, Ashe quickly takes care of with his arrows, allowing them to break down the left side and cut off the only retreat route.

Lonato bursts from the ruins on horseback, waving his lance wildly as he charges Edelgard and Caspar. Hubert prepares a spell to slow him, but Ashe nocks his arrow quicker. He looks down the shaft and lets it fly, striking Lonato right in the chestplate and knocking him off his horse. He crashes into the mud and scrambles to his knees, only to find Edelgard and Petra’s blades to his throat and Ashe’s arrow trained on him from a distance. Lonato snarls in disgust at him.

“Lonato, please stop this. Surrender,” Ashe asks. “It doesn’t have to end—,”

Lonato barks out a laugh. “Doesn’t have to end what, boy? The Central Church  _ only _ knows this end.” He shakes his head. “To have them take both of my sons. Their cruelty knows no bounds.”

“Lonato . . .”

“Where is the Professor?” Edelgard looks around. “She should be here by now.”

“I will not have my last moments be dictated by those betrayers, or by that wicked Archbishop and False Goddess. I make my stand here!”

Lonato lunges forward and tries to snatch up his fallen lance, but the moment his fingers curl around the shaft, they fall slack. He chokes around the arrow in his throat, paws futilely at the deep gashes in his chest, and collapses to the ground, silent moments later. Ashe sucks in a loud breath between his teeth and drops his bow, turning around and taking a few steps towards the treeline away from everyone else. Edelgard lodges the bloodied blade of her axe in the ground and looks around while Petra sheathes her sword and looks at Ashe.

“The Professor should have been here by now . . .”

* * *

When Byleth looks up, Catherine looms over the stranger, grips Thunderbrand with both hands, and swings down. Two blades flash up to meet her, and lightning crackles through the air where they meet, momentarily blinding Byleth, but when she looks back, the two stand deadlocked.

“I have to admit,” Catherine manges to say between labored breaths. “It’s pretty impressive that you managed to block my attack. Not many have done so.”

“If you think that was impressive, just wait. You haven’t even seen a  _ fraction _ of what I’m capable of.” The stranger diverts Thunderbrand aside and jumps back. “And all of it without having to rely on some  _ relic _ from a bygone era of false heroes and bloodshed.”

Byleth looks to Catherine, eyes falling to Thunderbrand.  _ False heroes . . . ? _

Catherine scoffs. “I see, so you’re one of them. Then I won’t bother taking you in. I’ll cut you down here and now and save Lady Rhea the trouble—!”

“You couldn’t cut me down if your life depended on it, and you’d best thank your False Goddess that you’re not on my itinerary.” The stranger turns to Byleth. “You said you would do anything for your students?”

Byleth stares at their mask, trying to discern anything about their true intentions from the eerie glow that comes from the eye sockets, then swallows. “Yes.”

“Would you trust me?” The stranger rubs their chin. “Would you believe what I say?”

Byleth huffs, annoyed. “Do I have any other choice?”

They stiffen, hand curling into a fist. “Of course you do. But I suppose, right now, it doesn’t really matter.” They hold up a hand to the side of their head. “Do you hear that?”

Byleth’s eyes meet Catherine’s, then return to the stranger. She listens for a moment, then shakes her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“The fighting is over. Your students have defeated Lord Lonato, I would assume. My time here has come to an end. Across the river. Take a right at the split tree and you’ll find your students tied up together at the base of another tree.” The stranger takes a step back, arms open. “As for your assessment, I would say you performed more than satisfactory. And so, before I go, you may have your reward.”

“Hold on,” Catherine waves Thunderbrand. “What makes you think we’re letting you go anywhere—?”

“I am the unbroken will of those who came before, I am the unstoppable force. I am called the Infernal One.” They extend their hand towards Byleth, and she swears she can see the bony mouth of the mask form a smile. “And I cannot wait until we meet again.”

Catherine jumps, but in a flash of purple light, they’re gone, her sword cutting through air and burying itself in the ground. She rips it free with a growl and stomps away.

“We’ll need to inform Lady Rhea about this.”

“You said that they were “one of them.” What did you mean by that?” Byleth sheathes her sword, dusting herself off. “Were they not part of the rebellion?”

Catherine’s spine straightens and she turns, a frightened expression on her face. “I . . . I said that without thinking. They might not actually be who I thought they were. We should wait until we’ve told Lady Rhea.”

Byleth frowns, but says nothing else about it. “The students. We should get moving.”

They pick their way through the brush and arrive and the ruins, where Hubert gets Edelgard’s attention and nods in their direction. She signals the rest of the students, with the exception of Petra and Ashe, who talk quietly apart from the others, and gathers around her.

“Professor, where have you been?”

Dorothea looks into the woods behind them. “And is that masked creep gone?”

“Forget all of that!” Caspar pushes to the front. “Did you find out where they were holding Linhardt and Wren? They haven’t come back yet, Professor.”

“I did. Why don’t you come with me, Caspar? I may need help getting them back if they’re injured.” Byleth starts in the direction of the stream. “The rest of you start helping the knights pack up and getting ready to go.” She looks over at Ashe and Petra. “Our mission is complete.”

The walk to the stream is short, but Caspar’s unusual silence makes it feel longer. He cracks his knuckles and stretches out his fingers anxiously, bright eyes darting all over the green of the woods as they make the turn at the split tree. He lets out a frustrated growl after a few more minutes of walking.

“Where are they? We should have found them by now.”

“Caspar, relax, shouting won’t get us anywhere—,”

“But we should have found them by now!” Caspar shouts loud enough to startle some birds out of a nearby tree. “What if some retreating troops took them with them? What if that masked creep gave you the wrong directions—,”

“Caspar?” Linhardt’s faint voice interrupts his rant.

“Linhardt?”

“Perhaps shouting will get you somewhere after all,” Sothis says with a smug smile.

“Shut up you,” Byleth mumbles and cups her hands around her mouth. “Linhardt, it’s us! Are you okay?”

“As fine as I can be, given the circumstances. I hope you intend to remedy them relatively soon?”

“Is Wren with you? Is she okay, too?”

“Yes, but she’s been unconscious most of this time. It’s made her extremely unhelpful.”

“Keep talking and we’ll use your voice to find you!”

“Ooh, good idea, Professor!” Caspar takes off into the woods, his and Linhardt’s voices bouncing off of each other.

Byleth chases after him, finding them at the base of a tall tree. Caspar already began working at the knots holding Wren in place, ripping the knot open and then working at the knots in Linhardt’s ropes underneath. Wren slumps over with a groan.

“Hey, you’re alright.” Byleth kneels down beside her, examining her for wounds. A few superficial cuts, but nothing Professor Manuela could fix quickly. “It’s me and Caspar. We’re here to rescue you.”

“Hm? Professor?” Wren cracks her eye open. “Boy, am I glad to see you two. Where are the others? Is the ambush over?”

“Yeah, we defeated Lord Lonato.” Caspar and Linhardt come around the side of the tree. “You two missed all the action.”

“A shame.” Linhardt rolls their eyes. “Though we probably could have escaped earlier if someone hadn’t spent all their time asleep.”

“Uh, whoops?” Wren rubs the back of her neck as Byleth helps her up. “I’ll try to keep it in mind the next time I’m being violently captured.” 

“Please do. Although for a moment there I did think you’d woken up and were going to escape, but apparently all you do is move around so much in your sleep that I could feel it through your ropes.” Linhardt chuckles as they follow Byleth and Caspar towards the rest of the class. “Could I interest you in the wonders of regular naps?”

“I’ll think about it, though I won’t deny I do feel quite refreshed.” She stretches out her shoulders and arms. “Except my entire upper body is so sore. Did they drag me into a boulder or something?”

“Well, while  _ you  _ two were enjoying your rest, the Professor had to fight some masked weirdo.” Caspar points his thumb at Byleth. “I bet you showed them a thing or two, right, Professor?”

Linhardt raises an eyebrow. “Masked weirdo? Weirder than the Dark Mages we see sometimes?”

“Yeah, they were so cool! Like, bad, but also  _ so _ cool. They had this mask that looked like it was made out of bone and it was shaped like a dragon’s skull and—,”

“A dragon’s skull? Sounds like a powerful enemy, Professor. I’m glad you’re unhurt.”

Caspar recounts the battle against Lonato for Linhardt and Wren for the rest of the walk back to the caravan. When they arrive, the equipment has been all packed and the horses gathered, including Wren’s horse, which had wandered back in search of its rider. The students stand by the carriages, talking amongst themselves, and the Knights huddle together, whispering quietly with pale, concerned expressions on their faces. One points out Byleth’s return and Catherine breaks away from them with something in her hands. Byleth, Caspar, Linhardt, and Wren rejoin the students with a loud cheer.

“Welcome back. I’m glad to see you’re both unharmed.” Edelgard smiles.

“What happened? Was it scary?” Bernadetta places both hands over her ears. “Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me.”

“Actually, it wasn’t so bad.” Wren crosses her arms over her chest. “The initial getting dragged across the forest floor was pretty bad, but they just kinda tied us up to a tree and left us alone, I guess.”

“You ‘guess’ because you were knocked out the whole time.” Linhardt sighs. “I was awake with no one to talk to and no one to help me escape.”

The students laugh, bringing a smile to Byleth’s face. A tap on her shoulder brings her to face Catherine, with a somber expression on her face.

“Professor, we have a problem.”

“What’s the matter? Is someone hurt?”

“No, but we found this amongst Lord Lonato’s effects.” She hands Byleth a message. “It was pretty well-hidden, so I don’t think we were meant to find it. It mentions here a plan to assassinate the Archbishop during the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth in the coming month.”

A hush falls over the group, all eyes falling on the message in Byleth’s hands. Byleth herself looks over the parchment with narrowed eyes.

“We need to report this to Lady Rhea as soon as possible—,”

The rest of her words fade out in Byleth’s ears. Sothis appears over shoulder, scrutinizing the note as well.

“If this note is to be believed, then the assailants will most likely make their attempt when she is in the Goddess Tower,” Sothis says.

“Yes,” Byleth says, then shakes her head, brow furrowing. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean, yes.” She closes her eyes, pain blooming behind them. “But that’s not what happens.”

_ Underground. Tombs line their path to the largest tomb in the back, where a mage performs a ritual. A towering knight, shrouded in darkness stands between them. _

“Then where does it happen?”

_ Traps and enemies line their path, but they inch closer and closer, wary of the ritual that grows near completion. She attacks the mage as more enemies pour in behind them, but it won’t be enough. The ritual burns bright—completed—and the mage shoves the stone lid to the floor, his triumphant smile turning to disappointment when he finally looks inside and sees . . . sees . . . _

_ Underground _ .

“The Holy Tomb,” Byleth says. “They’re after something in the Holy Tomb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute but that's bc I've been doing hot person shit *strikes pose* anyway happy honda days and happy new queer let's keep this party going
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and know that I am still kicking on this I'm just slow I'm sorry :(


	9. Group Project

Rhea looks over the parchment recovered from Lord Lonato’s body with Seteth at her side, her expression levelled and unreadable as always. Byleth wonders idly if others find it as frustrating trying to gauge what she herself is thinking, but her thoughts grind to a halt when Rhea calmly folds the paper and looks up. Seteth tenses, holding his breath as he waits for her to speak. Silence always seems to stretch on in the Audience Chamber, especially in the early mornings when the sun hasn’t even risen and the stained glass has yet to paint the walls with its colors, but when it breaks it’s always startling.

“I see no reason to fear for my safety,” She says easily, as if it were some note she found shoved in her desk after lunch as part of a childhood prank. “But we cannot allow such blasphemous intentions, however unfounded they may be, to go overlooked.”

“Indeed, Lady Rhea. That is why we are asking you and your students to help the knights with patrolling the monastery as during the Rite of Rebirth this month as your mission.” Seteth turns to Byleth. “It is not the best option, but it is our only option, and there is safety in numbers. Your students have proven themselves quite capable.”

“Speaking of your and your students, I am glad to see you all back safely.” Rhea’s eyes move over Byleth’s shoulder to Wren and Linhardt standing just behind her. “I was concerned when Catherine reported that two students had been taken hostage, but you two seem no worse for wear. I’m overjoyed to see you returned to us.”

“Honored to be back, Lady Rhea. I apologize for causing you such worry on my account.” Wren bows. “Rest assured that it won’t happen again.”

Linhardt rolls their eyes. “Yes, yes, happy to be back and of service and what not.”

“Excellent. Truly, Professor, your skill is remarkable to see your students through such an ordeal.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Lady Rhea, but the praise should really go to my students.” Byleth peeks over her shoulder at Wren and Linhardt, who smile back at her. “They’ve worked hard to get where they are, and I couldn’t be prouder of them. They’re great now, and I know they’re only going to get better.”

Rhea smiles politely. “Of course. Thank you for coming, Wren, Linhardt. May the Goddess protect you.”

Wren and Linhardt leave, and Byleth watches them go with a wide smile, turning back to Rhea and Seteth once the door closes.

“They really are good kids—,”

“I’d be inclined to disagree with you, Professor.”

Byleth’s face falls, shaken to the core by the comment. Had she not heard correctly before? She thought she had been doing a good job teaching the students.

Rhea continues, heedless of Byleth’s silence. “Your students actively sought out another—one with a close, personal connection to the betrayer whom they were supposed to be marching on—to have him join their House, and one of Catherine's knights reported that they gave him multiple chances to surrender. They hesitated.”

Byleth stays silent. Words and responses to her statements forming too quickly for her to get them out in an organized manner. Sothis appears at her shoulder, half worried and half furious as her eyes turn to Rhea.

“Do not listen to her. Do not believe her. Your students were only doing what they believed was right—!”

“But Lord Lonato’s fate, the fate of his militia and armies . . . that is the only fate that awaits those who would do us harm. I pray, above all else, that is the lesson your students take away from these events.” Rhea closes her eyes and sighs. “Now, onto . . . less savory matters. Catherine also told me you faced an unusual foe when confronting Lord Lonato.”

“Y-yes,” Byleth manages to find her voice and nods. “They were a warrior unlike any of the others in Lonato’s company. Unlike any I’ve faced really. They called themselves the Infernal One.”

Seteth tenses and exhales loudly through his nose, turning towards Rhea to whisper something in her ear. Her expression has become unreadable again, just as hard and immaculately sculpted as the marble adorning the molding about the ceiling. He breaks off and Rhea clears her throat, getting Byleth’s attention.

“Did they say anything to you?”

“They referred to themselves as ‘the will of those who came before,’ and promised that we would meet again. Is something wrong? Do we need to—?”

Seteth frowns, a flash of teeth nearly turning it into a snarl. “You don’t need to do anything, Professor. This is strictly a Church matter—,”

“Now, now, Seteth, remember that the Professor is one of us. We can trust her.”

“You may trust her, Lady Rhea, but you know that I must . . .” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “You must know that Flayn’s safety is paramount to me. If this Infernal One has threatened to come for the Professor, they could have means to infiltrate the Monastery and—,”

“Silence, Seteth, before you say more than you mean to.” Rhea places a hand on his shoulder, her eyes turning to Byleth. “The Church has many . . . old enemies. Some older than Fódlan itself. We must remain vigilant if we are to remain ahead of them, so we must be cautious of your new adversary. But there is not much we can do about it now. Focus on your mission, and insure the safety of everyone during this month’s Rite of Rebirth.”

“Yes, Lady Rhea.” Byleth nods and leaves, previous comments about her students still weighing heavily on her mind.

“And Professor,” Rhea calls after her. “Do try to keep the Infernal One’s words between us. Idle gossip is hard to control amongst the students, but such words . . . the last thing we need at a time like this is panic on top of panic. The Goddess’ Rite should be a joyous time.”

Sothis pushes on her shoulders (or, pushes as much as a ghost-girl-thing can) as Byleth nods. “Come, let’s leave. Your little ones need you, and we need to see if that Holy Tomb matches your vision.”

* * *

Byleth crosses the bridge to the Cathedral, slowly making her way through the crowd as she follows the new, temporary signs giving directions to the Holy Mausoleum. She grumbles to herself that she probably should have waited until the evening or early morning to take a look when the crowds were lesser, but she was already there, so she might as well push through. Instead of loud sounds of the crowd around her, Byleth focuses on the crowd and tries to recall the vision to her mind. 

_ Underground. Underground. The air is thick, making it hard to breath as she rushes the knight cloaked in shadows and smelling of death _ —no, Byleth thinks. Focus on the surroundings. She needs to know what it looks like when she sees it.  _ Underground. Underground. Why can she only see that it’s underground!? It’s dim, lit only by ever-burning braziers hung on the ceiling. Tombs line the room with headstones attached to each, inscriptions long since worn off and near impossible to read. They lead to the tomb at the end of the room. Her tomb.  _ Byleth’s eyes open.

Wait.  _ Her _ tomb? Whose tomb?

She turns the corner to the Holy Mausoleum and stops when she sees two familiar figures standing in front of the guard, one that makes her stomach drop.

“Ah, another one, huh?” The guard sees Byleth standing behind them and waves her off. “Sorry, ma’am, but the Holy Mausoleum is only open on the day of the rite. You’re all just going to have to wait until then.”

“I suppose even a peek is out of order.” Wren smiles deviously at Flayn. “Just my luck that we’re to be working security during the Rite and I’ll miss my chance to see it. I’ve read that it’s quite the sight.”

Flayn nods vigorously. “It is! Uh, that I’ve read that, too, I mean to say.”

“So, you had the same idea, too, Professor? Hoping to get a sneak peek beforehand since we won’t get to the day of?”

“Something to that effect, yes,” Sothis muses. “The fact that she is here right after you had your vision . . . it unsettles me.”

“It appears you now have an excuse to return to the Monastery some time. I happen to know in five years’ time, we will also be having the Millennium Festival—,”

“We’ll see, we’ll see.” Wren looks up as the bells in the steeple begin to chime. “Ah, I believe that’s lunch.”

“Oh, most excellent timing!” Flayn claps her hands together excitedly. “I hope they have fish today. Are you coming, Wren? Professor?”

“I’ll be there in a second. I just have to ask the Professor something about a lecture coming up.”

“I will endeavor to save you a seat!”

“Oh, you’re just too kind.”

Flayn disappears in the crowd and Wren turns to Byleth.

“Since when are you friends with Flayn?”

“Right now I guess? This is the first time I’ve talked to her.” Wren stretches her arms out. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about—,”

“Are your arms still bothering you?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go see Professor Manuela about it when you get the chance. They shouldn’t be causing you problems like that still.”

“They’re fine, probably. I wanted—,”

“Wren, go see Professor Manuela after lunch.”

“Fine!” Wren sighs. “Can we talk about my thing now?”

“Yes. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Okay, I’m here because Edelgard doesn’t think whoever wrote those plans is actually after Rhea. We think they’re after something else.”

“ _ We _ ?” Byleth repeats. “Is the entire class snooping around the Monastery right now?”

“Yeah! Pretty cool, right?”

“I . . . appreciate the enthusiasm.” Byleth raises an eyebrow. “And why did you come here?”

“Well, I overheard someone talking about the Holy Mausoleum, so I came here to have a look.” Wren points to the door. “And that guard gave me the details: how it’s only open this one day to the public, that the Holy Mausoleum—where the remains of Saint Seiros are kept—lays deep inside. Her tomb is sealed with incredibly strong magic.”

“Mhm, so what do you think?”

“Well, if I wanted into that tomb, I’d need time, and having the guards combing over the Monastery for would-be assassins sounds like a solid distraction to me.” Wren shrugs. “Besides, they would need guards to be distracted to get in this door. It’s the only way in. Unless they have some sort of map or something.”

Byleth shakes her head. “Sounds like something Tomas would throw in his ‘closet of forbidden literature.’”

Wren stares, dumbfounded. “He . . . he has one of those?”

“Yep. Just by his office.” Byleth shrugs. “Anyway, you promised Flayn lunch. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

“Alright, but it has to be quick. Edelgard wants us to meet again and organize the information we gathered before we presented it to you.”

“Well, I can applaud your initiative at least. I also believed the assassin’s true objective was something else.” Byleth chuckles as she and Wren cut across the courtyard as they head towards the Dining Hall. “Perhaps I am teaching you all a little too well.”

“That may be true, but I don’t think you’re in danger of us surpassing you any time soon, Professor. After all, I’m told you handled quite the adversary while Linhardt and I were tied up.” Wren quickly locates Flayn amongst the crowded tables and sits across from her, while Byleth sits beside her. “The other students only got a quick glimpse of them before your battle took you away from the field, so I was hoping you could tell me more about it.”

Byleth frowns and looks up at Flayn, remembering Seteth’s behavior upon mentioning the Infernal One. Her eyes widen once she realizes the topic of conversation, and she waves her hand for Byleth to continue.

“Professor, my brother has spoken in passing of your battle as well, but he refuses to speak more on it in fear of frightening me. Well, he may have a hard time remembering, but I do not frighten easily.” She huffs, stabbing her fish with her fork for emphasis. “Please, Professor, continue. I would like to hear more of this . . . Infernal One.”

Byleth recounts the battle to them both; of the Infernal One’s talk of will, their request of Byleth to trust them, how easily they blocked Catherine’s strike. Flayn listens with a somber expression, nodding when Byleth finishes. Wren stares, slack-jawed, then perks up when she realizes the story is over.

“Do you think it was some kind of mercenary that Lonato hired, Professor? That doesn’t sound anything like the other soldiers we encountered until we were captured.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Flayn blinks at her.

“The other soldiers we fought were trained militia—well trained, yes, but ultimately just citizens fighting for a cause they believed in.” Wren pauses for a moment and frowns. “But this Infernal One sounds like something else entirely. Someone battle-hardened, someone who was extensively trained. From the Professor’s own account, they were exceptionally talented with both the sword and magic.”

“I see. Professor, do you think we are in any danger from this Infernal One?”

Byleth’s eyes flit between them and sighs. Flayn seems apprehensive, holding her breath, waiting for Byleth’s answer as if something, everything maybe, hangs on it. Wren waits with elbows braced on the table, fingers steepled together and eye trained on Byleth’s expression, searching her face for a single hint as to what she was thinking.

“I think for now we should focus on the Rite of Rebirth.” Byleth stands and collects her dishes. “Maybe the Infernal One will show themselves, maybe they won’t. Maybe we’ll never see them again. We’ll never get any answers sitting here wondering all day.” She looks at Wren and gives her a small smirk. “We definitely won’t get any if we’re late to meet Edelgard.”

Wren pales. “Oh no! We can’t be late, Professor. We have to go. Bye, Flayn! Enjoy the rest of your fish!”

“Oh!” Flayn tries to keep up with Wren as she gathers her dishes and trash and returns them to their proper places in a whirlwind of movement. “Goodbye!”

Wren stops at the door, miming her steps as she looks over her shoulder for Byleth, who catches up to her with an easy smile. They walk to the Black Eagles classroom (or, more accurately, Wren runs ahead and then waits for Byleth to catch up), where they find Edelgard and the rest of the Black Eagles at the front of the room, crowded around a blackboard full of various styles of handwriting. Edelgard turns at the sound of their footsteps and her brow furrows slightly.

“Where have you been?”

Wren flinches ever so slightly at her tone. “I was having lunch with the Professor and Flayn and we lost track of time!”

Edelgard’s eyes widen, taken aback by her volume. “Alright, alright, no need to shout. You’re here now, with the Professor no less, and maybe you’ll be able to help do what the rest of us haven’t been able to yet.”

“Were you able to find anything at the Holy Mausoleum?” Ashe asks. “I tried to go there myself, but there were just too many people. I went to the Goddess Tower instead, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“You could probably sneak in if you were motivated enough,” Linhardt says with a drawn out yawn.

“It’s the middle of the day. And it’s expressly forbidden from students!”

“That just sounds like someone who’s not motivated enough.”

“Regardless of anyone’s personal motivation to break and enter into Church property,” Ferdinand interrupts their banter, eyebrow twitching in frustration. “were you able to see the Holy Mausoleum, Wren?”

“No.” Wren shakes her head. “The guard told me that it’s locked to the public until the day of the Rite.”

Petra looks up. “Upon which they would be letting people in?”

“That’s my understanding. Flayn was with us, and they wouldn’t even let  _ her _ in.”

“So the Holy Mausoleum would otherwise be locked on this one day, and day when security would be especially thin because of the threat against the Archbishop’s life . . .” Edelgard turns back to the board.

Hubert adjusts his glove, looking over the evidence beside her. “Lady Edelgard, I believe we may be on to something.”

“So they’re after something in the Holy Mausoleum?” Caspar looks over the board with a frown. “I don’t get it. What’s in there that’s so important? More important than anything they have in the treasury, at least.”

“They say the coffins of the Four Saints and Saint Seiros herself rest in the Holy Mausoleum—,”

Sothis pops up at her shoulder with an unusually sour frown. “No, no! This isn’t right!”

Byleth retreats into her mind, cutting out everything except for her and Sothis. “What makes you say that?”

“You remember the name that came in our joined head? Or have you already forgotten?” Sothis taps Byleth’s head repeatedly. “We seek the Holy  _ Tomb _ ! They speak of a mausoleum!”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

Sothis stares at her, caught somewhere between baffled and furious before shaking her head and shouting: “They! Are! Not!”

“But what they’re talking about resembles our vision. I saw coffins, I saw a big tomb that a mage looked like they were using magic on. That had to be the Tomb of Saint Seiros.”

“That may be true but . . . it does not feel right. It does not feel like the place we seek.”

“These visions are never perfectly accurate. Something about Wren is changing them.” Byleth shakes her head. “I’ve never heard anyone in the Church mention a Holy Tomb before.”

“And you had not even known of it before last  _ week _ !” Sothis’ entire body turns red. “I know this feeling in my bones very well, and you would do well to heed it.”

“I know this is confusing. After this meeting, we can look for more information about the Holy Tomb.” Byleth smiles and holds out her hand. “We will look for answers together. I promise.”

Sothis looks at Byleth’s outstretched hand for a long moment and then sighs, taking it between her own and shaking it. “I will . . . hold you to that.”

Byleth smiles, feeling her senses slowly return to her as she blinks her eyes open to the classroom. The rest of the students have left, leaving Edelgard alone to erase blackboard. She finishes and clears her throat, hoping to get Byleth’s attention.

“Professor, we’ve finished discussing our plan to focus on the Holy Mausoleum for security as part of this month’s mission. You can go now if you have other things to do.”

“Ah, yes, good work as always, Edelgard,” Byleth watches as she gathers a stack of books in her hands. “You seem to have some other things to do of your own as well.”

“Yes, I’m going to the library this evening. I’m hoping to learn more about the history of Lord Lonato’s family and his land in the hopes of finding the identity of his strange, new ally.”

“The Infernal One.”

Edelgard’s frown tightens as she lifts her books. “Yes. It’s unlikely they just materialized out of thin air. They must have come from somewhere, must have trained somewhere. I’m hoping to find a connection somewhere between families, knights, servants even.”

“In that case, would you mind if I accompanied you? I was also heading to the library. I could even carry some of your books.”

“That would be lovely, Professor, thank you.”

* * *

The shadows cast by the Monastery’s tall walls usher in a cold wind that blows through Wren’s clothes like a whisper of ill-intent, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and goosebumps along her arms until she shakes it off and continues down the lines of dormitories, journal open in front of her. She chronicles the events of the day with quick, precise strokes of her pen, only looking up when she rounds the corner towards the Reception Hall and hears the shuffling of feet. Tomas steps down the last of the stairs after a long day in the library, fixes his robe with a stack of books and papers balanced in one hand, then turns and heads towards the barracks while humming to himself. Wren pauses for a moment, then shuts her journal and shoves it in her jacket, following him from a distance.

_ Could he be heading to that closet the Professor mentioned? Where they keep forbidden books? _ She wonders, peeking around the corner as Tomas meanders towards the small graveyard and then turns right. Wren follows, her steps light and silent, and looks just in time to see him pass the treasury and turn the corner to a section of the Monastery rarely visited by students.

She checks that the coast is clear and sneaks to the corner, peeking around the corner as Tomas unlocks a closet door and begins arranging the books and papers inside. It only takes a few moments and then he locks the door behind him, returning to the more populated Monastery grounds with a cheery smile. Wren takes a step back into the inky shadows of the high walls behind her, watching him go without a single inkling she was there, then approaches the door. She kneels down and checks the handle and lock. The mechanism looks simple enough, sure, and she can’t make out anything in the room beyond with the lack of light. Wren feels around the door with the dwindling hopes of a spare key being nearby, but finds none. She looks at the lock again with a defeated sigh, racking her brain with the faces and hands of her classmates.

_ Now, who would most likely know how to pick a lock while keeping quiet about it? _

* * *

Claude huffs and runs a hand through his hair as he shuts a book and tosses it into the ever-growing pile to his left. He slides the last book on his right in front of him and flips open the cover with a discouraged frown, tired green eyes scanning the table of contents. He’s sighed for the third time when Edelgard and Byleth enter the library and see him scratching his head in frustration.

“It’s rare to see you actually studying.” Edelgard places her own books at the seat across from him but doesn’t sit. Not yet. “Professor Manuela stumped you?”

“Heh, not yet, but I’m sure she’ll think of something. That woman’s pretty clever.” Claude smiles and rests his chin against his folded hands, genuinely thankful for the distraction, even if it does require him to stretch his brain to trade blows with Edelgard. “No, actually, I’m looking into something related to you.”

“If you’re trying to flatter me, we’re well past that possibility.”

“I’d heard about your class’s little . . . incident on your last mission. Nice to see everyone made it out unharmed. But I suppose it’s as they say: every mistake is a chance to grow. Letting the enemy catch you unprepared like that is quite the faux pas, Princess.”

“I’d call it less of a mistake, more of a challenge.” Edelgard grits her teeth, grip tightening on one of the books on the table. “You would have to ask the Professor for a more accurate assessment, though. She is the one who faced them.”

“The Infernal One.”

The silence that settles over them is tense, eyes flitting between each other and then around the room. A few other students wander the shelves behind them, but far enough away that they could speak somewhat privately. Edelgard’s eyes narrow as she slides into the seat across from Claude, crossing her legs and pushing the books aside so their view of each other is unobstructed. To his credit, Claude kept his face straight, but Edelgard had never seen his eyes so alight, so excited.

“What do you know of them?”

“I’m afraid nothing more than what I’ve heard.” Claude pushes the book in front of him aside. “Rumors sprung from the truth, rumors sprung from rumors. Some people say they were part of the Western Church, some say they were part of something else entirely. Guy can’t be sure what to believe with so many rumors.” He shrugs, eyes rolling to Byleth. “Now, if an eyewitness were to come forward and clear up this misunderstanding . . . ?”

Byleth tenses when Edelgard says her name, but she sits. After some careful consideration, she gives them both a vague synopsis of the battle between her and the Infernal One, making sure to omit what was said about those who came before, an image of Rhea’s serene smile flashing in her mind. Sothis snorts in annoyance beside her. When she finishes, Claude sits back in his chair.

“Interesting. Who could they have been working for?” Claude rubs his chin. “A foreign power? But who? I would have—,” He stops himself short, shaking his head and laughing. “Ah, I’ve been at this for so long, my thoughts are all jumbled together.”

“I had thought that perhaps the answer would lie in the history of Lonato’s estate—House Rowe. Some ties are not so easily broken, even over the course of time, and cannot be denied when called upon.” Edelgard motions to her stack of books. “I thought maybe some long forgotten alliance or agreement would give us a lead, at least, to discovering the Infernal One’s identity.”

“Clever. Almost like I thought of it myself, Princess.” Claude crosses his arms. “And I did, but you beat me to the books. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me help you look? I’m a little invested in his mystery now, and I’d like to see it through to the end.”

“Ha, I suppose there’s no harm in letting you look. I have these books until the end of the week, and any information you withhold from me now, I’ll simply find myself later.”

“Very confident, aren’t we, Princess? And what will you do when I start ripping pages out?”

“Y-you wouldn’t! Not with the Professor here!”

“Hey, it was just a thought. I wouldn’t dream of damaging precious, Monastery property.” Claude tenderly pats the cover of the book Edelgard hands him to prove his point.

“Excuse me.”

They all look up to see Dimitri standing a few feet away from them, hands clasped behind his back. He had definitely been standing there for a while. He and Edelgard’s eyes meet—his bright with recognition and hers with stark indifference. His lips quirk downwards in a frown before resettling back into a thin line.

“Hey there, Your Princeliness.” Claude waves. “Doing a little late night studying as well?”

“Something . . . like that,” Dimitri says, taking the invitation to finally step closer to their table. “I was browsing the shelves over there and I couldn’t help but overhear that you are researching the history of House Rowe?”

“Yes, we are.” Edelgard looks over the titles on the spines beside her. “You are from the Kingdom, Dimitri. Is there anything you can tell us that might help?”

“That is actually why I approached you. Er, you both. I know some history of House Rowe that wouldn’t be written in any book that might be of help to your research. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to help you.” Dimitri looks to Byleth. “I have heard some gossip about your battle with the Infernal One, Professor. If there is even a fraction of truth in what they say, then they pose a threat to the Church and all of Fódlan. If something I know could help stop them, then I will gladly give it to you.”

Edelgard looks to Claude, then hands Dimitri a book. “Very well, then. These books are all the library has on the noble houses of the Kingdom and House Rowe specifically. If you have any other noteworthy knowledge, then write it down and we’ll look at it when we come together to compare notes.”

“Grab a parchment and get to writing, Princeliness. We’ve got some digging to do.” Claude laughs, then flicks his pen at Byleth. “Are you joining our little research project, Professor?”

“No, I have some research of my own to do. But if you need help with anything else, I’d be happy to help.”

“Actually, Professor, could you help us when we compare notes?” Edelgard asks, setting aside an already full sheet of parchment. “As the only one other than Catherine who’s encountered the Infernal One and has any idea of the sort of person they are, your insight could be of great help when we sort through the information we’ve gathered.”

“I’d be happy to,” Byleth says, watching Dimitri grab a book and some parchment and sit at a different table, his back turned to the others. “How long do you think you’ll need?”

“I don’t know, Princess, how long is it gonna take for me to crush you at this note taking?”

“I think you mean how long is it going to take me to leave you in my parchment dust?”

Dimitri’s head peeks up over his shoulder. “Please, you two, we shouldn’t be racing on something so important.”

“How does two hours sound?” Edelgard leafs through her books with inhuman speed. “I’m sure we’ll have something to show you by then, Professor. And I’ll have shown Claude exactly what he gets for challenging me.”

“Well, I have to do something, Princess, you refuse to play chess with me.”

Byleth shakes her head and smiles as she leaves them to her work, browsing the small selections of books available about the Monastery’s history. Most are just the same story told word-for-word about Saint Seiros and founding of the Empire and a small mention at the end about Garreg Mach’s establishment. She finds no maps or schematics, and definitely nothing about any underground tombs or structures. Nowhere does she find mention of a “Holy Tomb,” and she hears Sothis huff irritably over her shoulder.

“Secrets on secrets,” She mutters, crossing her arms indignantly. “This place seems to be built on secrets.”

“Mhm,” Byleth hums in agreement, sliding the last book onto the shelf as she looks for Tomas, but finds he already left for the day.

“Old man wasn’t much help before either,” Sothis yawns. “I think Wren was onto something about him.”

“He’s unhelpful, not evil.”

“When it comes right down to it, is there much difference?”

Byleth whips her head in Sothis’ direction. “Yes!?”

“Hm. We won’t find anything here it seems. Let’s check the rest of the library.”

Byleth wanders the labyrinth of shelves on the first floor, and then the second, checking books that seem like they might have the information wants, but as she leans against the bannister flipping through what seems like her hundredth book, she feels her shoulders sag in exhaustion and her feet begin to ache. Sothis scans the shelf in front of her and sighs loudly.

“How can there be nothing about the history of the Monastery?”

Byleth closes her book and slides it back into place. “This might be something we have to ask Seteth about.”

“He already distrusts you. Any prodding on your part will only further his distrust, and he could make our search for information even more difficult than it already is. I fear we may have to search . . . elsewhere to find what we are looking for.”

Byleth pauses from her half-hearted search and raises an eyebrow. “You sound like you have an idea. And that I’m not going to like it.”

“Perhaps not particularly.” Sothis settles on a nearby table, fiddling with the edge of her robe. “You remember what the librarian told us, yes? That the Church removes materials it deems unsuitable for these shelves and disposes of them.”

“You think we might find something in those banned books?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not, but it would be another place to look for the information we seek. Does it not interest you, at least? Why there would be nothing about the history about the Monastery’s construction?”

“Well . . . finding more about this Holy Tomb might help us find out more about these visions, how we’re connected to each other and Wren. But . . .” She trails off, thinking of the chilling edge in Rhea’s voice when she spoke earlier.

“I see,” Sothis says as she floats to Byleth’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It is up to you. For now, we should wait for the little ones to finish, and then rest. What eludes us now might come easily after a night’s rest.”

Byleth nods and spends the remaining hours perusing the shelves, watching the moon climb higher and higher into the starlit sky. When she returns to the table, Dimitri had finally joined Edelgard and Claude at their table, the three of them hunched over numerous sheets of parchment and exchanging whispers. Edelgard notices Byleth first, picks her head up and waves her closer.

“Professor, you’re right on time. We’re just about done here.” Despite her level expression, her voice is tight with irritation, and Byleth sees similar sentiments on the boys’ faces.

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“To say our efforts were less than satisfactory would be . . . generous,” Dimitri says carefully, rubbing his sore neck. “Even with my knowledge of House Rowe, we seem to have hit a dead end.”

“How so?” Byleth takes the last empty seat and takes the parchment with their collective research on it from Claude. “Walk me through it. Maybe I’ll see something you’ve missed.”

“You always have just the solution, Teach. Alright.” Claude sits forward, arms folded underneath him. “Based on what you told us, the Infernal One had to be incredibly gifted in magic, so they likely attended the Fhirdiad School of Magic, but even the most minor of House Rowe’s connections haven’t had a member attend the School in years.”

Byleth looks up at Dimitri, who nods. “Enrollment is fairly public, and getting in is no small feat. I’d wager it’s just slightly easier to get in there than Garreg Mach. But only just.”

“Surely that’s not the only place to learn magic? We have a number of students here who are good with magic but never attended the School.”

Edelgard nods. “Exactly, so we started cross-referencing with other, minor combat and magic schools, as well as known mercenary groups. Which is when we came across something odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Professor, look at this book. It’s meant to be a Register of Kingdom Nobles.” Dimitri pushes an open book across the table towards Byleth, and she notices the tiny remnants of pages in the center of the fold. “Someone has taken pages out of this book. It completely omits the remaining information about House Rowe and even skips a few other Houses.”

“We wouldn’t even have noticed if His Highness hadn’t joined us.” Claude leans closer. “It really is a clean cut . . .”

Byleth runs her finger over the page remnants.  _ Whoever did this knew what they were doing _ . She closes the book and exhales slowly, steepling her fingers in front of her face. Edelgard looks around the table, then speaks.

“Professor, I believe—,”

“The Church has been known to censor information.” Byleth picks up the book and turns it over in her hands. “But why not just remove the whole thing? Why just a few pages . . . ?”

“Professor, you can’t seriously be insinuating—,” Dimitri’s face grows tight, hands balling into fists in his lap. “This could have just as easily have been the work of—,”

“Well, there’s only one way to be sure, really.”

Claude says it so innocently, but the implication hangs heavy over the four of them. Dimitri stares at the table, hands tight in his lap; he looks seconds from standing up and storming out, but he never moves, just waits for someone else to say something first. Edelgard looks from Claude to Byleth with the same, expressionless mask she always wears, but the pale lilac eyes are alight with something rarely seen before. The idea turns over in her head a million and one times before she comes to a decision, hands folding on the table. Byleth remains focused on the book, setting it softly back on the table. She places both hands on top of it and looks up at each of them, her voice quiet when she continues.

“There is a closet that the librarian told me about, where he and Seteth keep materials meant to be disposed of.”

“Professor, what you’re proposing is—,”

“Come on, Dimitri,” Claude whispers. “Live a little. I’ve seen you skulking around here at odd hours yourself. There’s something you’re looking for, too, and that closet might just have the answers you want.” He leans closer. “Unless . . . having answers is what you’re afraid of?”

“No! I . . . I’m . . .”

“This is about finding information about the Infernal One. Nothing else,” Byleth affirms. “We look for that information and only that information. Understood?”

Dimitri looks from Claude, who nods, to Byleth, then sets both hands on the table, palms down. “If this were to happen, we would have to go soon. It’s dark, and the Knights’ patrol will be switching soon.”

“I agree. We should go now. Bring the book with you.” Edelgard stands. “And we’ll speak of this to no one.”

“Right.”

* * *

Byleth leads them to the closet, dark shadows cast by the castle walls and armory obscuring their vision. True to Dimitri’s word, the guards were gone from their posts in front of the treasury, and they slipped by undetected. So far, so good.

Or so they thought.

They turn the corner and stop, ice freezing in their veins when a light in the darkness suddenly snuffs itself out, followed by faint shuffling of feet. Byleth reacts first, drawing her sword and reaching for one of the unlit torches on the wall, one finally meeting her hand when Edelgard shoves it in. She strikes it against the wall and it lights, shoving it forward into the face of the intruder.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Wren whispers harshly, batting at the torch and sword with her hands. “Professor, what the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

“What the hell am  _ I _ doing? What the hell are  _ you _ doing?”

“I asked you first.”

“Wren, I swear—,”

“Okay, okay, just get the sword out of my face, please!” Wren straightens up when Byleth relents, adjusting her jacket and eyepatch with a huff. “I wanted to find some information about the Infernal One but the library was useless, as expected, so I remembered you told me about this closet once and—,”

“Oh my god are you trying to break into the forbidden closet?” Claude slides up next to Wren with a wide smile. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Trying being the operative word. I don’t know anything about picking locks, and blasting or melting the damn thing with magic would be too obvious that it was me.”

“Have you tried using leverage?” Edelgard suggests, examining the door closer. “We might be able to pop it open if we have enough room.”

“No, I haven’t—hey, don’t try to distract me!” Wren points at each of them. “What are you doing here this late? You should all be in bed!”

Claude crosses his arms over his chest. “You know I don’t sleep.”

“We were looking for information on House Rowe when Dimitri noticed someone had tampered with a book on Kingdom nobles to omit information on them. We came here hoping to find more information,” Edelgard explains. “Not to sound overeager, but if there’s no sound way to open this door, we should just break it down before the guards come back to hear us.”

Wren sputters. “We cannot break down the door. Listen, I was thinking I could use my lightning magic to magnetize the lock and then—,”

Byleth raises an eyebrow at Wren. “You want to do  _ what _ to the lock?”

“No, it’ll work! Then I can just pull it out and the door will swing right open, I’m telling you. I can handle this, Professor.”

Dimitri frowns. “That sounds awfully time consuming, and the guards will be returning soon.”

“Really,” Byleth kneels down to examine the lock herself, shaking her head and muttering loud enough so only she could hear: “How many nobles does it take to open a locked door? None; they’ll just argue until—,”

“Guys there are no guards right now,” Claude calls from the corner. “We’re a-go for breaking down the door.”

“We are not—!”

Dimitri stretches his arms. “I’m breaking down that door.”

Edelgard nods in agreement. “Honestly, we’re wasting time. Wren, if your arms are still sore, just stand back. We’ll—,”

A click and the squeak of hinges interrupts them as the door swings open and Byleth stands, sliding her dagger back into its sheath on her belt. The four of them stare at her, dumbfounded, and Byleth looks directly at Wren.

“You never asked if I knew how to pick locks.” She jerks her head towards the closet. “Let’s get to it.”

They nod awkwardly and follow her inside. What they had hoped would be an organized closet of forbidden literature and banned books instead looked like a windstorm had recently blown through the place. Loose parchment lay where it had been tossed, crinkled and crumpled under the weight of those on top of it. Precariously stacked towers of books rose high above their heads without a single thought for organization or protection.

Then again, these books were destined to be disposed of, so Byleth supposes that makes some sense. She still wishes it were a little more organized.

Edelgard clears her throat. “Alright, let’s spread out, as much as we can, at least. Look for those missing pages and anything else related to House Rowe or the Infernal One. Do it quickly, and do it quietly. And try not to disturb anything too much. We should try to leave this room exactly as we found it.”

The others nod and get to work. Claude begins working through stacks of books, and Dimitri helps him reach the higher ones he can’t. Wren begins rifling through some papers, trying to make sense of their content from the few lines she can make out at the beginning. Edelgard helps Byleth comb through the semi-organized bookshelves. Byleth scans the dusty spines, hoping to find one that might be related to the Monastery’s history. They’ve just gotten to the middle when Wren picks her head up, holding up a few wrinkled pages in her hand.

“I think I’ve found them?” She recites the lines under her breath as the others gather around her. “. . . yeah, this is definitely about House Rowe. Do these cuts match those in the book?”

Byleth produces the book from the jacket and opens it up to the tampered section, which Wren slots her missing pages into perfectly. Dimitri exhales slowly, bright eyes glazed over and looking over the evidence before him, as if trying to glean something other than the obvious. 

“Why would someone want to hide information about House Rowe here?” Wren asks, looking down at the passage. “This information isn’t even that damning.”

“I’d like to know that myself.” Dimitri’s voice is deep, rough, almost a growl as he closes the book and hands it back to Byleth.

They stand in uncomfortable silence, broken by Edelgard clearing her throat.

“We’re not here for anything else, correct? We should hurry and put everything back before we’re found here.”

“Agreed.” Wren nods. “Just as we found it.”

They get to work putting everything back together, Byleth checking that the books were arranged on the shelves just so when a folder perched on a nearby end table catches her eye. Specifically, a paper sticking out of the folder and the faded words “. . .  _ ief History of Garreg Mach M _ . . .” Sothis appears over her shoulder, eyes radiating with curious energy.

“There, that one! That’s the one we need!”

“I see it.”

“So grab it!”

“I will. Just . . . give me a moment.”

Byleth checks over her shoulder to make sure the students are involved in their own tasks, then scoops the folder up and shoves it into her jacket pocket. She returns to checking the books until the students finish arranging the room, then she locks the room behind her.

“I’m sure this doesn’t need saying,” Byleth turns to them, holding up a single finger. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

“Of course, Professor.” Edelgard and Dimitri nod.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Teach.”

“You can’t seriously think this is my first time sneaking into a place I don’t belong.”

Edelgard hides a laugh behind her hand. “Sure fooled me with how hard it was for you to get past the door.”

“Y-you all just caught me on a bad day is all.” Wren smiles at Byleth. “What I mean to say is, I’m no amateur, Professor. My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent. Wren, Edelgard, I shall see you tomorrow in lecture. Claude, Dimitri, have a nice night.”

Byleth turns and leads them around the treasury then breaks off towards the dorms. She makes a beeline for her room and closes the door behind her, probably harder than she had meant, and mentally hopes none of the students come looking to find out the cause. She retrieves the folder from her jacket and rips it open, arranging the papers on her floor. Most are very old, the parchment practically fabric in her hands and the ink so faded in some places she can barely make out the shapes, but she puts them in order as best she can with Sothis floating over her the entire time. When she’s out of papers, she stands up and examines what she’s found.

Most of the papers with words are useless—either too damaged or old to be read, or too out of context and separated from other papers that she can’t understand what they mean in the first place. She places those to the side and instead focuses on the few papers that have sketches of what looks like floor plans. It’s clearly a very early iteration, as the reception hall isn’t even included and the dorms are much smaller than they are now.

“It is a good thing they changed. These facilities would not have been adequate, but where is the Cathedral? The Goddess Tower?”

“These must be for the Officer’s Academy only. That was added to the Monastery, right?” Byleth rubs her chin, pointing to another paper. “These look more like the Monastery: Cathedral, Goddess Tower . . .”

“What is it?”

“There’s nothing for what’s underneath the Monastery. Even the Holy Mausoleum is just a footnote.” Byleth frowns, head in her hands. “Why is it so hard to find?”

“Perhaps we’re just—ah!”

Byleth feels it a split second later, pain that splits through her skull and throbs in time with each pulse, nearly making her double over from the surprise alone. Her eyes water as she screws them shut, lights flashing behind her eyelids as they form a solid vision of a solid throne, not unlike the one Sothis appeared in the very first time they met. But this one is close enough for her to touch, and just as she thinks she can, a hand brushes across the back of the throne. A voice pushes through the haze, familiar yet foreign at the same time, and Byleth can’t help but immediately feel an undeniable twinge of dislike run through her at its sound.

“. . . _ sit upon the Throne of Knowledge and . . . it’s appropriate . . . don’t you think? _ ”

Another voice, strained with emotion answers: “ _ You always have just the solution. _ ”

The vision fades and Byleth collapses on her bed. “The Holy Tomb and the Throne of Knowledge . . . what the hell is going on?”

* * *

The four students, once Byleth is out of sight, make for the armory, which stands empty at the late hour, even the most dedicated of soldiers and students having retired for the night. Claude looks around and then turns to the others with a grin, hands tucked into his pockets.

“So, what’d you get?” He gauges their reactions easily.

Dimitri flusters immediately. Guilty. “What do you mean? You can’t seriously mean—,”

The corner of Edelgard’s lips curve upward just slightly, the closest he’s ever seen to her smile. He takes it as a victory. Also guilty. “Nothing that you need to concern yourself with.”

Wren admits to it, proudly. Guilty, but less fun. Or maybe more? He can’t quite decide. “Just something about a rumor I heard about. Been wanting to check it out for some time.”

“So is it true?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to let you know after I check it out for myself.” Wren smirks and crosses her arm. “So what’d you get?”

“Me? I didn’t take  _ anything _ —,”

“Wyvern s—,”

“Let’s not get into an argument. It’s late and everyone’s tired.” Edelgard pats Wren on the arm and heads for the exit. “Don’t stay up too late, and I better not see you tardy for lecture tomorrow.”

Wren waves after her. “Goodnight, Edelgard.”

Dimitri waits until after she’s disappeared to say goodnight and leave as well. Once he’s gone and they’re left alone, Claude and Wren hurry to the nearby tables and take out their spoils.

“So, what’d you get? I know you took something!” Wren looks up, trying to get a peek. “No details, necessary, just want a little bit of the good stuff.”

“Just some dirt on the Church. You know the deal.” Claude shrugs. “Now you. What’d you snag?”

“I wanted to know about what lies underneath, if you catch my drift.” Wren rolls her eyes. “The Church spends so much time suppressing rumors about what’s underneath the Monastery. Whatever’s down there has to be interesting.”

“Mhm, so nothing specific?”

Wren’s eyes shoot up to him, dark teal cutting right through him in the dim light, then she smiles easily. “You know if I find any good dirt on the Church, I’d share it with you.”

Claude only manages to catch a brief glimpse of the papers before Wren folds them up and puts them back in her pocket. “Of course, of course. Have a good night.”

“Sleep well, Claude.”

Wren exits the armory and heads to the dorms, eyes trained on the ground in front of her, but her gaze unfocused and faraway. “The Immaculate One,” She murmurs. “Could what I’ve read about that monster be true? And why would you need to know about it, Claude?” 

She scuffs her feet against the stone pathway, knowing the answers she seeks are out of her reach for today, at least.

Claude, meanwhile, leans back in his chair, watching until she’s out of earshot to take his papers out again and study them on the table. But his mind travels back to two words he managed to steal from Wren’s spoils.

“‘The Abyss,’ huh? What would you want in a place like that, Wren?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooooo not dead. Long-ish chapter. I think it turned out that way because I like writing the three House Leaders interacting.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! Sorry as always about the long delay and the erratic update schedule, but as I said: this isn't dead until I say it is! Pandemic and capitalism forcing me to work during a pandemic got me down, but I'm not out!
> 
> Please stay safe and healthy!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I have the entire fic already plotted out, so the big thing is mainly the writing right now. I'm technically an essential worker during the pandemic, so I'll be writing between that, but the plan is right now to try and update the fic once every 1-2 weeks!
> 
> ...Except for this week because it's the anniversary of the release the Three Houses today (technically, where I am, it still is) and my Beta readers were SUPER awesome and got me both Chapters 1 and 2 back within a couple days of each other, so I'll be uploading that tomorrow! But after that, lol, who knows what the updating schedule will look like.


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